Ethiopian Tripletland

Teeth: an update

2012-01-23T12:37:00.026-06:00

Taking a break on U Street.

Remember when they are babies and every tooth eruption is important? Like, whoa, my kid is so talented, he already has 6 teeth! Whoa, we are so in a bad way because he is cutting molars. I'm not sure how much teeth were responsible for making Bereket's eyes so big and quiet during his teen months. But I forgot that at a pretty young age all those little perfect baby teeth start falling out. Kind of gruesome. I filed that one away until last year when I started noticing all these 4 and 5 year old kids in Pre-K with mouths full of missing, differently sized, and jagged teeth.

And, true to order of teeth eruption, we are losing those lovely pearls beginning with Bereket (lost first tooth during the end of his fourth year). Sira is a close second and Tsega is trailing far behind (zero loose, zero out). Funny, the big kid (and he is getting quite huge while the little guys are still the littlest people in their class) with all the hair gets his teeth last and loses them last.

Number of teeth lost so far: 6.

Bereket is the cutest with one of the two front ones gone (that's him with the red shorts). For some reason he has not stopped smiling ever since and if I could draw a few freckles on his cheeks, he'd be perfect. We had a toy vacuum once, it had a toothy smile. It looked just like Bereket's baby-toothed smile. I kind of miss that stupid vacuum.

Some time later...

2012-01-08T09:27:00.009-06:00

Aug 2011. First day of Kindergarten. Still in DC.

Halloween II

2010-11-05T18:54:00.001-05:00

The earliest Halloween I can remember, I was no more than five, since I remember my neighborhood and friends before we moved during kindergarten. I had a bag of candy, we always used pillow cases, and I ate all I wanted and stuffed my lunch box with candy and by day three it was all gone. I had a friend, same name as me, who claimed to still have Halloween candy 6 months later.

Last year was the first Halloween we took the kids trick or treating. I love Halloween. By November 1st the kids didn't remember or maybe didn't realize they had any candy left and stopped asking for it (I think we allowed them each 3 pieces Halloween night) and they didn't get much anyway because they were so spooked and moved so slow. Anyway, again, by day three the candy was gone, Jerry and I ate it all.

This Halloween we are in a DuPont Circle hotel in DC. Jerry and I have been watching slasher movies on cable for days. The house cleaners had the kids' costumes in a bag destined for the dumpster, but I rescued them anyway. Like last year, the kids dress up in whatever I scrounged up from this and that. Since we are within walking distance, since the neighborhood is crawling with homes and kids, since the streets are full of fall leaves, we cruise Georgetown Halloween night. God, what did these people do to get so much money? I couldn't help but stare past the door and the person holding the door, past the candy bowl, and into these prosperous homes. The beauty compels me. (I have to mention that my mom and I and then Jerry and I climbed the infamous M Street steps in Georgetown made famous by the Exorcist and Alfred Hitchcock.)

Tsega as giraffe hybrid, Sira as lion king hybrid, Bereket as the 4 eared puppy dog.

The sun shone when we started in our costumes, so, needless to say, people smiled and laughed as they passed on the streets. This made Tsega nervous, he asks, why are they laughing to me? Funny he cares, since lately they think everybody on the street wants to be entertained by them. Waving, greeting, gesturing, posing, posturing, performing. I am the one in front with the face, looking back and shouting, avoiding eye contact. I'm not exaggerating. I feel bad because I can't control my kids very well, they frighten me on the street (danger! danger!), then a stranger shoots me an engaging smile, means to say through a glance, You've just made my day by exposing to me the cutest damn kids, perhaps triplets, at least twins, that I have ever seen. And that winning smile and bright eyes meet my unattractive grimace. My mouth cracks to smile.

Anyway, Day five after Halloween. Hell of a lot of candy left. Contemplating throwing it away. Kids demanding candy candy candy, crying, insulted, injustice. Unlike my mother, I take their candy bag, hide it, eat it, Jerry eats it, I pretend there's none left, Jerry and I pass each other pieces behind their backs, make loud noises as I tear a wrapper off. I can't keep eating this stuff. They can't keep eating this stuff. Maybe I'll donate it to the hotel lobby. I think it's faded from memory by now, anyway, I just tell them it's all gone now. I love Halloween. Like, spooky.

Report

2010-10-22T12:23:00.062-05:00

So, Cindy, how is your second month in DC going?

Well, haha, the row house adjacent to ours burned to the ground, our house suffered heavy smoke and soot damage, we're staying in a hotel for about a month, and our dog died of smoke inhalation. Other than that, swell!

Fire. It is late morning, we are all out, except our 2 dogs, Louie and Clementine, and cat Annie. I return to find the street blocked off and full of fire engines. I am walking in a heavy downpour with my heart leaping at my throat and down to my feet, barely sheltered by a ridiculously broken neon-green umbrella, sure that it is my house in danger. No, it is the adjacent row house to the west, we are the lucky ones. I am home just after the fire is extinguished and Clementine is dead on the back porch and Louie and Annie missing. The whole scene, made more depressing by the heavy muddy rain, was a mess. I remember slipping in the mud, in flip flops, as I made my way to Clementine's body.

House. Our house was filled with impossible black smoke something awful. The adjacent house is a dismal, total loss. She, with no insurance, is left with next to nothing. The singed shell of bricks sits boarded up. Our house is a rental and thanks to renter insurance, pros are cleaning our belongings along with the house, and while some things are lost, we'll be OK (except for perhaps the constant drift of smoke smell from next door, surely a health hazard).

Clementine. The fire fighters did all they could to get the dogs out. The smoke was real bad and both dogs were barking and fighting for their lives at the back door. The crew gave oxygen to both but Clementine died anyway. They tell me Louie was pretty bad too but he revived then ran away. When I arrived a marshal gently showed me Clemmy's body and I just cried. I felt so bad for her. The smoke was so bad even the inside of the microwave was black.

I had Clementine for about 11 years. Got her as an older puppy from the shelter. A red coonhound. God she was an awful puppy. Nearly couldn't potty train her. Tore up a new couch and the front seats of my car. I was often asked, Why are your front seats blue and your back seats tan? Always running off, terrible on a leash, baying at everybody, scaring people, although she couldn't hurt a fly. She followed her nose always. She wasn't much a better adult dog, but she was gentle and mine, and I loved her. In Kansas she and Louie ran that countryside like no dog ever did. At first we tried to contain her, but as long as we received no complaints, we let her and Louie do as they pleased to make them happy. I figured if she got shot or ran over, at least she lived a long dreamy dog's life. And she did. Rest in peace Clemmy. Get that rabbit. Will I really never hear that coonhound howl again?

Louie. Soon after Jerry came home to join me, we found Louie cowering under the shed out back. We never truly claimed Louie as our own. He showed up one day and wouldn't leave, so we let him stay on because he fell so hard for Clem. She eventually came around to him too. Physically he is fine since the fire. But that scrappy funny dog is so sad and serious now. He is clinging to us and we are clinging back. I never felt so sorry for a dog before and since the kids our pets have lost a lot of status with us. But we feel his pain and he has instantly risen in significance with us. Now I don't want to go out without him. My heart swells for this silly little sad dog.

Annie. I couldn't remember if she was in the house or not, nobody had spotted a cat. That evening we were back in the house looking for something and suddenly as if nothing happened she scampers on her little squirrel feet across the kitchen floor. Geez, cats are so resilient. I don't believe she is affected at all by the fire. Gotta love a cat.

Kids. They were in school at the time. We picked them up and told them everything and showed them the house before moving on. There were some tears and Bereket was pretty scared when we approached the house. But they are resilient too and doing amazingly well. We're commuting to and from school right now in our van, so we may be a bit messy and our homework missing or sloppy, but they're pretty happy through it all. They tell everybody in that unintelligible preschooler way they have, Our house is broken and Clementine died.

The what-ifs. Plague the imagination with horrifying drama. What if . . . the neighbors were home and didn't make it out. . . or the fire happened at night as we slept or when Jerry was in Nepal and my mom was sleeping in the basement (the worst of the smoke was in there) . . . What if I was home and got stuck downstairs trying to get the dogs out, or our house burnt down too? What if I was home and got the G-damn dogs out???

All in all, tis only a minor curse for us, obviously it could have been so much worse.

The following are happy images albeit bad smart phone quality (camera temporarily out for restorartion):

Bribery.

A moment of peace. The boys are maniacs on the metro.

Clementine (right) with pal Louie before furniture.

Most likely, a multiple time out in public and ineffective.

A little wild in the city.

Still this beautiful.

In the City

2010-09-29T11:35:00.037-05:00

We still like to play in the dirt outside, pretend to be Pinocchio, make goofy faces, and freeze in bizarre poses in the middle of a busy sidewalk. Or wear a dress. Or hop around on all fours barking. You might have seen us exit the ice cream store playing dog. (Don't go in there if you fear the same may happen to your kids.)

We wear uniforms to school. And spend insane amounts of time in Pre-K. Monday thru Friday 8:40 until 3:10. They're only four and always over tired after school and hate walking the three or four blocks home. Naps at home have ceased for the most part. It's cool having all this time to myself, but I think it's too much. They're so little! At school, tongue lashings are not uncommon, which is new for me. I mean, I yell at home all the time, but I'm not used to seeing other people -- preschool teachers, staff -- raise their voice or use harsh tones. Luckily its balanced with sugary sweet personnel as well. And really, the boys' language and comprehension are again exploding. Oh, and we get homework too. Sigh. I didn't sign up for big kids . . . not yet. DC public neighborhood schools are, allegedly, among the worst in the country. Interesting times . . . I feel inspired to do something . . . what?

I moved my kids and they did just fine . . . this we heard a lot. Yeah, but I think you forgot kids also have hair triggers and throw a bobby pin into their world, unravel their knowns, and the crying, oh the crying, the tantrumming, peak at alarming rates. I heard myself say yesterday, time to call in the shrink. Sira is beyond crazy and cracks up all the time and always gets Bereket into it. I love a funny kid, but they are impossible to parent at these times. I think my parenting act is a disaster lately. I do see light ... somewhere down the hill. Deep breaths.

We miss home, we miss old teachers and baby sitters. But we are also having a blast in the city. We love our skinny little house, friendly quiet neighborhood, and I feel a huge unburdening of guilt that my kids' skin color is now the majority in our community. I do love the city and the country will be that much sweeter and DC has amazing urban parks with native vegetation and creeks. Except now . . . you're really going to feel sorry for me . . . baby sitters are hard to find still and charge outrageous fees. The chance of Jerry and I getting a night out alone -- and God do we need one -- are not looking good at the moment. Ah hell, he's in Nepal right now anyway. So I'm moaning a little inside and repeating a favorite phrase in our house, what about me? Me needs a long walk in the woods with the dogs and start dancing again . . . work comes later. Easy to do! Lucky mama overall!

We're here

2010-09-19T19:32:00.005-05:00

The loudest family on the block settled into their new DC home. Our volume penetrates this kind and gentle neighborhood. These country people stand out. Who brings hound dogs to the city? The boys are in school, pre K, 5 days a week, all day until 3:15, integrated into a big kid public school. What. Your kids are in a local public DC school, oh God, they make movies about these very schools, yet they are singing and talking more than ever. There is not one single white kid in school (preschool - 8th grade), some Hispanics, a little bit of Ethiopians, and the rest AA which reflects our immediate neighbourhood.

The boys' charm is catching. Some older girls were calling Corbin Bleu one morning as I dropped them off. Dork, I had to goggle him. Very hot.

Despite bad insect bites - I mean, what are those things biting me - $70 in parking tickets, yeah, forget the car, sunburns, heat and dripping humidity, horrible triplet moments, and rare nastiness, we have experienced incredible kindness from our community and the district. DC is laid back, full of color, kind, happy, with beautiful people and endless rockin AA hair.

Readers, bare with me. I'm still living off a smart phone -ewww she's gone mobile - but soon this site will back and running and full of detail antics and gorgeous. I miss you ...

Three Little Days

2010-08-11T07:00:00.049-05:00

In 3 little days we and 3 little boys move from Kansas to Washington DC.

Jerry and I thought our roots were here. We built our house and planted trees and a garden. Three wild grape vines have taken over parts of our fence. The Kentucky coffee trees are huge now. I planted a rose bush that never did much, except there were 3 plump roses just blossomed on the day we received our adoption referral. Drops of my sweat are sealed into the wood stain. Jerry killed his back with drywall. But in 3 days we leave behind a house empty of people. I think it will sag with silence and neglect.

We leave a house, but it's still ours. We leave our jobs, but they'll be here. I leave my career temporarily (temporarily!) to stay home, Jerry begins again with the Feds. For one year we are city people in the Nation's capitol. Who knows after that . . . a return to home base? Stay? Off to another adventure?

It's a mixed bag. Excitement, romance, melancholy, wonderment. We're up for anything . . . I'll miss my dance classes, my little community of friends, co-workers and even acquaintances, and the biggest loss, our yard -- the place where wild things run free -- but surly I will find replacements. And thank you gods, we found a row house with a decently sized fenced in yard (a few midnight panic attacks -- kids, dogs, cats, no yard, no freakin way -- focused my house hunting energies!) and our new community is a place of groove and racially rich. May the gods be with us and the dollar thrive.

Two thirds

2010-07-23T14:40:00.111-05:00

I once wrote a lengthy blog post on the identical pair's relationship with each other vs each one with fraternal brother Tsega. At the time, although I was noticing the blossoming of identical twinisms between the pair, something that was not apparent during infancy and early toddler hood, such as shuffling together in step, there did not appear to be a tighter bond than what each had with Tsega. Indeed, when the babies began moving about more Bereket considered any brotherly contact antagonizing (see that blog post here). Yet blogging often cast spells and no sooner had my post hit the net when things changed.

Example. This morning Bereket climbed into my bed to find Sira and Tsega sleeping. He climbs next to Sira and starts patting and kissing him and whispering alien nonsense in his ears. He'd never do that to Tsega. Sometimes the pair gain up on Tsega. Poor little dude. He is at times a bit of an outsider to Bereket-Sira. So different than his identical brothers (yet he is the spitting image of his first mother) but prefers to be my little shadow. But they protect him too. They make sure he gets his share: What about Tsega? If they see him drifting apart during our walks, or getting too close to the oxbow that lines our driveway, because he loves to throw rocks down there, they get nervous and cry for him.

There is so much sameness between the "twins", such a profound connection, it's spooky. Even down to that funky toenail, which, BTW, Sira noticed for the first time the other day. He was pointing to it, telling me that he has no nail. But you do, I tell him, it's just a little funky, Bereket has it too, right on the same toe. Come here Bereket, show Sira. Then they studied their toenails seriously before hopping off together into trouble. (FYI, it's not that noticeable and not gross or anything . . . it just looks different than the rest of his toenails, kind of curved). They have the cutest feet and toes.

Anyway, so, yeah, they are definitely a tight bond. Yet Bereket is such an easy going, confident babe for long time now (not so during the teen months), and Sira . . . everything is I don't like or I'm scared of. He may even melt to the floor while proclaiming, I don't like anything! During rough spots I still get his 37 pound body into a sling which soothes his soul like nothing else can.

Tangent. These guys are obviously engrossed by something on video. Lately we started ending our day with the Grinch cartoon just before bedtime because bedtime has seen some heavy resistance. (Yeah, another example of my sloppy parenting.) They crack up and then go to bed like a dream. Last night they were mumbling the verse along with the narrator Boris Karloff. Sometimes they ask me to sing the Whoville carol before bed. Yeah, you got me on the lyrics. Da-hoo, ra-hoo, fa-hoo, la-hoo, something something Christmas time.

Scoot

2010-07-22T08:29:00.032-05:00

We are loving the scooters. They're easy to ride and the boys look ultra cool. And they ride silently, no loud rolling sounds. I see skateboards in their future. I sort of have a soft spot in my heart for skateboard kids since they remind me so much of my small years during the 70s in Southern Calififornia and all the big kids in their OP pants and groovy feathered hair riding the streets. (If you haven't seen the documentary Dogtown and Z-Boys, get it -- the doc, not the movie based on the doc.) I wanted a big bad skateboard like my brothers but my parents got me this sick girly one (thanks guys!). But the skate kids scare me a little too since the ones around here, although adorable and fascinating, look like trouble (as if I was such a wholesome brat!). I'm a sucker for grace and moving the body as art. Guess it's rubbed off on the boys . . . they love to get funky.

Vogue

2010-07-19T16:52:00.039-05:00

Wild things, fashionistas, models.

Here Sira is wearing a leopard print jumper layered with a tiger's mask hairband and a draping men's shirt. Notice the complexity of textures and the seamless flow from fitted to relaxed like a super heroic angel.

That was Sira's funky dance. He does it a lot.

Here we have a matching set.

The outfit is not complete without clay feet.

Tsega, always in a state of wardrobe distress -- the kid changes costume a hundred times a day -- is not pictured probably because he is nekked.

Wild Things

2010-07-19T13:02:00.016-05:00

Whooping in the rain.

Double Rainbows.

We have about another month to enjoy our secluded piece of nature where wild things run free, naked, or dressed in costume.

Dot and line

2010-07-14T08:49:00.021-05:00

The fabulous triplets had their four year wellness check up. I had two separate appointments since we couldn't fit in three at once and they are too crazy together in the appointment room anyway. Those little rooms, doctor, nurse, me, triplets boys . . . hell no. Our old pedi retired early and unexpectedly. I am sure our appointments accelerated her departure.

Tsega cannot keep his hands off the stethoscopes. I mean I tell him no, the doc tells him no, and he just can't stop. That is so Tsega. He once broke a picture off the wall there. He did that in a hotel room too (not to mention broke off the closet door during the same trip, although aided by his brothers). And he giggled wildly during the exam, so ticklish.

Sira and Bereket leaped around the room on all fours and barked. I wonder if mine are the only boys who love going to the doctor? They ask all the time to go. I gots owie, I need to go to the doctor! Even after a couple of nasty shots and some tears, they still asked to go back.

Anyway, all is well. And . . . drum roll please . . . what about those two shorties? Bereket, for the first time in his history, got a dot on a line on the height chart!!! He is officially in the 5th percentile for height! Sira just missed it by being almost an inch shorter. He is also about a pound lighter which oddly enough put him like tons behind Bereket on the weight chart. Both have always had a decent standing on the weight charts. Honestly, I don't know how Sira keeps weight on since he eats next to nothing at lunch and dinner. Indeed, he gets a pedi-sure now and then.

Tsega is smack in the middle for height (and he looks so tall to my eyes) and 90% for weight! All have lost many baby rolls in the last year and all are rock solid rippling with muscles. It's the Oromo in them.

Snuggled

2010-07-12T13:26:00.057-05:00

Here they are snuggled in their beds. Fancy beds. They still sleep on their crib mattresses.

Sira now sleeps in Bereket's bed. I see he has Bereket's beloved "little pillow".

At first Bereket refused a bed mate, but seeing how upset Sira was to sleep alone in the dark, he invited him in. Now this is the way we put the two to bed. Of course we can't leave the odd man out, so Tsega's bed moved closer. Ohhh, the small years in the dark of night. A monster lurks . . .

Here they are snuggled in mom and dad's bed.

These two always find a way to be close.

Dad on couch because if all three end up here during the night, which isn't uncommon this summer, somebody's got to give it up (I find a pattern in the bad to contort my body more easily than Jerry). FYI, Sira and Bereket snore really loud. Funny, we just had our 4 year well check up and the doctor handed us some papers and on one, it said your child should always sleep in his own bed. Why?

Run away

2010-07-12T08:58:00.023-05:00

Sira, your feelings were hurt, as they often are, you are sensitive, over small things I don't remember what. You were beat. I watched your little body saunter slowly down the long rocky driveway, shoulders rounded, head down. Your bare feet shuffling up dust. You're wearing nothing but little boy underwear, backwards, the elastic stretched out. A mouse mask is around your shoulder. What a bitter sweet site. My little boy is running away. I catch up with you, hold your warm body, say soft things. We pick flowers in the meadow for Grandma Di before turning back home. The world is alright again. Until we return and envy cries out. One by one I take each brother back to the meadow to pick more flowers. The world is good. Now can we eat?

Future pole vaulter

2010-07-08T09:17:00.018-05:00

He loves animals, flowers, rivers, and princesses. But he is strong as an ox and throws his grace around like a cannonball. Picture it. My little dude tried pole vaulting, that is propelling himself down to the floor from on top of a stool, not with pole in hand (the end of a broom handle horsey, that is), but with pole in mouth. Gag, literally, gag. He's OK but his uvula is feeling it. I think he might have at least knocked a little sense down his throat? (Jerry who was so kind to make dinner while mama was out -- something he does 99% of the time anyway -- caught him in the act mid-air.)

Ewwww, really gross!

Jaden - Tsega

2010-06-30T09:07:00.019-05:00

More hair, more kicks, more fame and we have twins. I am just a wee bit infatuated with Will Smith's son in that motherly way. He is, after all, almost as cute as Tsega.

Call me a sucker for a cute kid with grace and flexibility, but I liked Karate Kid.

Happy Happy Happy Birthday Birthday Birthday ! ! !

2010-06-23T12:50:00.038-05:00

Since I cannot fathom they have aged so rapidly (four!, wait, they were just months old like yesterday!), since two were naked this morning before work, since one was still in the pink dress he slept in, and since we all suffered severe bed-head, I can only post baby pictures. Besides, we're keeping it on the down low until Saturday so we can spend the whole day eating cake, riding new scooters, running through sprinklers, and basking in birthday glow. Four, wow, the gateway age to becoming men.

Don't you wish you were like Billy Pilgrim in Slaughterhouse Five?

"I am a Tralfamadorian, seeing all time as you might see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains. All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is."

"If what Billy Pilgrim learned from the Tralfamadorians is true, that we will all live forever, no matter how dead we may sometimes seem to be, I am not overjoyed. Still--if I am going to spend eternity visiting this moment and that, I'm grateful that so many of those moments are nice."

What I wouldn't give to flit in and out of the past and smell and see all that I remember. I will always cherish the smell of sweat mixed with sour milk.

Happy Birthday, beautiful babies.

The Babas

2010-06-22T13:10:00.001-05:00

Tsega (crying): Baba did it, the One in the Cow.

He means Sira.

Tsega has lived with Bereket-Sira (the identical twins of the triplets) for almost 4 years. He lived in utero with them, although separated by membranes, for up to 9 months. He sleeps in the same room and spends most waking moments wrapped up in Bereket-Sira. Yet to him, they are usually, collectively, Baba. He usually does not care to distinguish them, or can't. He can say their names, but he gets it wrong all the time. It was only in the last 9 months or so that the boys started calling each other by name. They are funny this way.

This was something the speech therapist worked on last school year, naming brothers. But, I told her, this is a bit tricky for Tsega since he can't tell Bereket-Sira apart. To me they look incredibly different neck-up, but neck-down they are genuine clones, except for a few little skin blemishes, even sharing the same funky toenail.

The cow. Sira, until lately because of hot weather, was wearing his mouse costume daily. But the tail ripped off so he switched to the cow costume. They love tails. Then the cow's tail ripped off too. They also like pulling tails. I have some mending to do. . . . Anyway, you should see him in either costume. I have little matching masks and he wears those like headbands. He looks so damn cute with his hair pulled back all dressed up. Then he scampers around on all fours.

Some boys dress up like mice and cows, others prefer skirts and dresses. But we won't touch that today. My Babas. But if you call Tsega 'Baba' he will correct you. No, not Baba. Tsega. But Tsega, you are so Baba. BTW, that is acually Bereket in the cow up there at the tail end on winter.

*Post-script: I said something to Tsega over last weekend about his Babas and he corrected me, twice. No not Baba, Dira. No no, no Baba, Bereket. In fact, he loves chanting Bereket! instead of Dira! all over the yard as they weave around trees screeching. And sometimes, it really is Bereket.

Nearly three at four

2010-06-21T14:14:00.042-05:00

A garage in repair (barn, shed, whatever it goes by) holds a boy's attention.

I love the intensity with which Sira eats desserts.

Only a few more days of three at three. On day twenty three less than three twenty-fours, my three turn four.

Shhh, but the three no longer three are getting three of these (mini scooters for little dudes):

All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide.

Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour
Beneath such dreamy weather,
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?

Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out—
And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
Beneath the setting sun.
--Alice in Wonderland, The Introduction
(cut out of context to suit my context)

De Man

2010-06-08T08:37:00.010-05:00

He is like Obama. He walks on water. He's Super Dad to the Super Triplets. He is named one of this year's National Geographic Emerging Explorers. He's all mine ladies.

Last Day

2010-05-18T15:00:00.115-05:00

Last day of preschool. Why does this make me cry? I can't bare to look at their teachers or the bus driver. The boys thrived this year in absurd ways. They barely spoke last fall and now we know letters and counting, sizes, colors, same and different, we can dress ourselves, and well, you name it. Oh, well, OK, so Tsega cares little for letters and hasn't bothered to pick up very many - he'd rather talk and sing, act out Disney movies, and go on and on about Emileah, and that's OK.

We still have way to go. But 3 things reassure our success: (1) The boys are one of a kind crazy unique . . . they shine; (2) They're popular with adults and kids; (3) They're smarties. . . .They still don't talk much, but they are working those big brains.

Is it me or is there a Jesus-like quality in their poses?

I'm worried about summer and regression. I mean, I gotta worry about something, right? But right now I'm glad we can lax a little on bed time and sleep in longer. Starting my day at 6:30 and dragging kids out of bed . . . not good. (Of course on Saturdays they were always up and in our room by 6:00!)

But you know what's really great right now? Ohhh, don't jinx it! The kids are in some crazy laid back easy going mood right now. I don't even remember yelling or getting crazy annoyed in at least a few days. Sweet. I blame the sun and its warmth. The sun and our new slide. We love love our new slide. You must see it. Except I fly down like a rocket and it tickles my stomach and the boys grab on to me and ride me like a sled . . .

Lie. Before I got around to finishing this blog we got cranky. Jinxed by colds and tiredness before I even posted. Let's get there again . . .

Oh, and since I have neglected my blog lately, I have a secret to share. We're moving to Washington DC this fall for one year. Shocking! More soon . . .

Just because . . .

2010-05-14T12:47:00.007-05:00

Everything is more beautiful in spring except the inside of a house.

One Chilled

2010-04-27T10:00:00.034-05:00

Because the others in this moment cannot. Picky and stubborn are two in ways that diverge to opposite poles, while Bereket flows. Thank you B. Make it last.

Sticks

2010-04-19T09:55:00.034-05:00

He loved them when he was a baby.

He loves them when he is a preschooler.

OK, so here there is no stick. I just like this baby-ish picture with the sun god loving on him in that moment and he loving on her . . .

And while I'm at it, I mean remembering Tsega in the only element that suited him at ages 1-2 (he's more versatile now), outside that is, here is my favorite captured memory of him . . .

Does he know he's hurtin the ladies?

Guest Blogger

2010-04-15T08:32:00.015-05:00

Paige from Ethiopian Orphan Relief asked me to write a guest blog entry on something big. BIG is this month's EOR bloggy theme. She suggested I write something about the differences between my first and second Ethiopia trips. For my first trip to Ethiopia (2006) I played the role of timid tourist and scaredy adoptive mother. Second trip (2008) I played only the role of tourist. Remember readers, I have links on my sidebar that montage both. Anyway, I sorely need an editor for such a task, but I tried my best anyway. For a fun read (at least peep at EOR's website anyway!), click HERE. I'm sure there's offensive material for at least a few of us, so be gentle criticizing but have fun. :)

Thanks Paige!

one . . . two . . . three

2010-04-12T10:07:00.057-05:00

One. Tsega.

Two. Sira.

Three. Bereket.

One . . .TWOOOOOOO . . . (don't make me get to three!) . . . THREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

And that's how my favorite triplet-motivational speech goes. In this classic example, we have three boys running around house perimeter, climbing up and through open french doors in the south, back outside through back door in the north, and round the house again, all the while alluding counting-frenzied mommy and bed time. Your typical spring and summer bedtime ritual.

Funny Face

2010-04-06T11:51:00.045-05:00

Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile

Sira. He is the man of faces. The physical comedian in the house. Bereket laughs at people falling down, Sira falls down for a laugh. But he can cry over crumbs too. Like the other night during -- now say this monotoned & full-volume -- The Worst Family Barbecue Ever! Cried over ketchup while I cried over the kid crying over ketchup. Or this morning, the whole morning before leaving on the bus . . . crying. (I think I heard it stop the moment I stepped off the bus, just like the bus driver said it would.) So Sira, just smile. Me too.

This will make us smile . . . a montage of Sira's funny faces. Seems lately turning the camera on Sira sparks off expression city. Watch it, you'll feel all warm and fuzzy and wait for those few baby shots near the end. In the words of Shaggy, like wow.

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

I gots owie!

2010-03-31T15:39:00.080-05:00

Ewww, that's a lot of band aids.

Owie envy, common among multiples. One gets an owie, they all do. Then suddenly one finger in my face turns to three or thirty with no injury in sight. My favorite is when one falls, another gives a good fake tumble (this would mostly be a Sira thing). So slapstick. Such good physical comedians (again, mainly Sira).

Band aid obsession, common among preschoolers. I wouldn't dare buy the cartoony ones.

Fake sick, common among school children. No scoo morrow, I sick. I hear this everyday. But man, since preschool all of us have been sick and sicker like nothing I've ever experienced before. I mean our health runs are short lived and few. That's what happens when nearly sick-free country kids start public life. And I was so careful to expose them to all the germs of our messy lives in high doses.

BTW smarty readers, great advice on last post. All good ideas and possibilities. Wiffle ball, I love it. Haven't thought of those in years. I just hope it's heavy enough to satisfy. It has to be just so. You know, three year old rationale. :)

Strings

2010-03-30T14:46:00.070-05:00

Three three year olds, a stool, and a string. From each end of the string two drag around the third on the stool all over the house. Not sure what to call this game . . .

(Sira leaps like no frog can.)

Speaking of strings . . . I never thought I would resort to banning strings from my children, especially strings that act as tails, and especially strings that act as tails that have balls tied to the end. It all has to do with Pinocchio. I love Pinocchio. Tsega loves Pinocchio like nobody. He even has a little wooden Pinocchio doll my mom picked up in, I think, Budapest (was a marionette, but we cut off all the strings) and Tsega loves his “nah-co-co” doll, formerly known as “kin-ee-kee-o”. (The doll makes an appearance in “Lettering” posted a couple of posts ago.)

(One dressed like Pinocchio doll.)

Yes, he is still full-on into the song and dance “Got no Strings”. But now another scene obsession emerged. Monstro Awakes. Pinocchio’s at the bottom of the sea searching for Geppeto as a whale swallows him. Pinoch has a rock tied to the end of his new donkey tail, the one he earned for being very bad at the wrong place and time, and so walks the ocean floor weighted down by the rock as he fights and swims frantically from the whale’s mouth. Tsega needs the tail with the rock and he flails his arms and runs in circles repeating about 2 lines over and over. He acts it out in the yard, in the house, with and without the video. Indeed, I have seen him spontaneously acting out several seemingly random scenes as he watches various cartoons like Bugs Bunny, Snow White (oh yeah, we have a collection of conventional toons, party at my house).

The thing is, it’s hard to sustain a ball or rock at the end of a string. It falls out. Or the weight isn’t just right. Or the position of the tail is a little off. You know three year olds, if a crumb falls off their bread they think it’s broken and suddenly they're screaming. This makes what’s supposed to be fun turn ugly. He gets too worked up. He whines. The tail makes him upset. And it’s not such a little thing that he keeps stealing shoelaces and losing them so that I keep buying more and way too many shoes in our house are unwearable. It’s pretty funny when you catch your three year old secretly unthreading your shoelaces behind closed doors and then tells you to go away when discovered. He’s a sweet kid, his brothers too, really sweet. They only tell me to go away because they want to get away with something I don't like. OK, so we are working on this. So now I am hiding shoelaces, shoes with shoelaces, and having heart-to-hearts with Tsega. The tail drives me nuts! I love the theatrics, I can't wait to expose him to more arts and classes, but the pickiness of the tail is too much.

I am like anti-Martha Stewart. I don’t even bother sewing buttons. So can anybody advise me on how I can make a tail that would carry a ball, or where I can get a small ball with a hook on it?? Like a ball and chain sort of dealy? Are we just weird or what? Pretty funny, huh? Us getting all worked up about tails. You gotta sit back and just laugh. :)

Kitchen Camper

2010-03-24T15:09:00.045-05:00

It's what, 10:00, 11:00? Friday night. Boys snug in their beds, mom and dad partying like rock stars. Then, oops, I stumble out my bedroom door and run into this (Tsega) about three feet away on the kitchen floor.

No jammies. That is the usual way we find Tsega by morning. But in his room, sometimes our bed, not usually in the kitchen.

Party on, Sira.

Lettering

2010-03-23T15:05:00.140-05:00

Bereket is The Letter King. It all started with a video my mom sent the boys eons ago. She doesn't even remember. Yeah, right, like videos teach kids, uh-huh. The only thing Sesame Street taught my kids so far is how to stuff food in their faces as fast and furious as they can while growling (it took us a long time to break Cookie Monster manners, I kid not). So sometimes there we are getting all crazy before school and I'll pop in a video, many times The Letter Factory. A perfect 20 minutes or so that allows us to finish processing the boys.

Something soaked in, because I'd hear Bereket singing to the tune of high-ho-the-merrio, The D goes "duh", the D goes "duh", blabber blabber blabber, the D goes "duh". (Or more like, de e oh duh). Then he started freaking me out by recognizing, pointing, and naming letters like within a few weeks of starting preschool. Oh, get off it, so your kid has been doing this before he walked. La-de-da.

OK, sorry about the attitude. Yeah, no, I don't school my kids much. Our particular triplet household is not conducive . . . we break down into wrestling mode at the slightest hint of organization. And I don't need to go into the language delays again, which makes his lettering extra special. Anyway, then he freaked me further by spontaneously drawing letters. His teachers didn't even realize he could do all that. Anyway, his love holds (Sira too, not so much Tsega) and his penmanship is lovely.

He sees letters in his body and objects too.

Look mommy, look. "Y"

(Did you notice those cute little teeth topping his cute little smile? I always liked that about him.)

Look mommy, look. "K"

(Dude needs improvement at drawing K.)

Look mommy, look. "I"

And to prove a point, learning morphs to wrestling. And this is why they separate into 3 different classrooms and why homeschooling is out (ha, as if I'd be up to task anyway).

In the words of Bereket, Uh-buh-by, Cookie, buh-by-eeee. (You got me.)
Side note: Cookie used to be Loo-la, as in, uh-buh-byeee Loo-la. (Again, you got me.)

Oh, a little over a year ago I videoed a certain cookie monster. Oh my, the chubbiness and short hair and bad manners, where did it all go?

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

4-0

2010-03-18T14:14:00.056-05:00

Shhh, notice the cake? Mama, that'd be me, turned 40 last week. As Jerry would say, I don't look a day over 39.

I hate it. I feel it. I hurt.

Cute part is, the boys were too jealous to let me have a birthday all to myself, so I shared mine, which makes it a good thing they're triplets come actual birthdays in June. There are always enough beats to the Birthday song to accommodate everyone: Happy Birthday dear Mama, Tsega, Bereket, and Seeeeera . . .

Hey, don't be all like, man she's old! You are getting older just as fast as me.

Relax. Yes, my hand is where you think it might be, but my mom took the picture in front of children so it can't be that R-rated. ;)

This is something I do when I see a camera pointing at me. I angle my head so that I have this sort of angelic quality and not so much the used up 40 around the eyes thing.

Yeah, I'm one of those old new moms and that's OK. :)

Sooooothing

2010-03-18T08:49:00.115-05:00

We escalate tizzies a lot. My neurons shoot off in ways that get me dizzy. I seriously feel motion sickness at times trying to tend to all the sweet little boys in my life. Imagine you are a pinball and the pinball wizard is playing a marathon; that's me, the ball. I've mentioned this before, but dinnertime is typically the height of craze. It would help if Sira ate dinner.

You know, this kid hates everything and after breakfast, during which he eats like a horse, he has little interest in food the remainder of day. This is the one area where Bereket doesn't follow Sira. Sira rejects new foods. He rejects vegetables. He even smells food first. I mean, it's pretty funny, smelling your food out of sheer suspicion before trying, I mean rejecting, it. It's a kid thing, I guess.

His short list of likes include (I mean beyond sugary delights): milk, peanut butter and jelly, toast, eggs with ketchup (or just ketchup but organic only . . . the o-word makes me feel a little better about it), cereal, oatmeal, pancakes, yogurt, apple sauce, pears, and that's about it. Huh, just noticed, mostly breakfast food. Baby food. Not a foody. Somedays pizza, pasta (only whole wheat rigatoni), and tostados/tacos/burritos (simply beans and tortillas, never cheese or sauce) . . . but not consistently (no pasta right now). What kid doesn't like cheese, or mac n cheese? Mine!

Anyway, back to our neurons. I am about to reveal a heaven-sent secret that calms our firing storm. A trick I stole from a 5 year old girl on the Internet: deep cleansing breaths. Yeah, not rocket science. Not pop psychology or heavily intellectual. At the height of chaos or upset, we huddle as I announce, time for deep cleansing breaths! And this is how it goes . . . in your best slow calm preschool teacher voice . . .

Everybody! Close your eyes! Think of something nice . . . the park, birthday parties, kisses, the dogs, trikes, the river, the sun on your face . . . now close your eyes, breath in and count to 3, and phhhhhhew, blow it out slowly. OK, one more time . . .

And poof, magic, the sea is calm. For 5 minutes anyway. Ewwww, try it!

Lennies

2010-03-15T12:53:00.104-05:00

(Early morning after breakfast ragamuffins.)

"I will hug him and pet him and squeeze him ... and pat him and pat him ... and love him and caress him..."

If you recognize this quote and get my blog title, then you watch Looney Tunes and read Steinbeck. You rock.

If Tsega loves you, he has probably squeezed you to crying. If all three love you, run. Love does hurt. Especially in numbers. I kid. Savor it and consider yourself (*gasp, choke, sob*) too lucky for words.

See Tsega's tight lips? This means he is really feeling the love. You lucky Bereket you.

Tsega, stop pulling the dog's ears until he cries. I know, I know, they are sooo pull-able. Yes, you love him a lot, I can tell by your lips.

Mouthy

2010-03-09T09:04:00.074-06:00

No, not Halloween. Mouse suit is good for all seasons.

I just noticed. The camera often catches the kid, Sira, with his mouth full of food doing odd monster moves. And that's why he is, currently -- because this could change any moment -- Silly Sira.

The exciting part of above picture is not just the long tongue (I always wanted one of those tongues that could reach the tip of my nose), but Sira is actually eating at a restaurant. And because all are eating, my kids aren't acting horrible in public. Yay for having yogurt as a side option! Yay for serving kid's food in cardboard cars! Yay for breweries in general (this was a lovely one in Hays, Western Kansas)!

Hey, live in Kansas and be easily entertained like me.

Nuggy on an ink pen. Nums.

Lolly

2010-03-09T08:25:00.039-06:00

He's sweeter than a sucker. His eyes dissapear when he smiles. Sweeet. I'm not sure how we spiraled down this road (the TV, action movie, & fast food roads have all been hit) but the sugar has got to stop. That is, we've got to stop using it as a parenting tool. Oh, forget it, it works. But this I promise, in front of everybody, the video game road will never be traveled in my house!

How is it that Tsega's curls suddenly hang ? They used to reach out and kiss the sky and now he has . . . bangs. Go curls, whether up, out, or down.

By the way . . . have you noticed? . . . this kid is huge!

Baggy

2010-03-08T15:03:00.024-06:00

He (Sira) grabbed these 3 bags from me (2 must have held wine?) and off he went. Minutes later I find this . . .

Clever boy. It's forever a costume change here.

Blossoms

2010-02-12T08:54:00.058-06:00

Scene 1: Math. Living room, morning, today.

Me: (Holds both index fingers up) What's 1 + 1?

Bereket: Two!

Bereket and Sira hug, a physical depiction of two.

Me: (Holds two fingers up on one hand and one finger up on the other hand) What's 2 + 1?

Sira: Smiles and points to Tsega.

Tsega makes three . . .

Scene 2: Bragging. Preschool meeting with teachers, yesterday.

Sira and Bereket. Still significantly delayed in speech. BUT, advanced in letter recognition! They are where they should be this time next year right now. They're starting to free hand letters too, drawing M, T, J, X, of course O, and working on B and S. They also like to design letters and shapes with hotwheel cars. I think they'll read and calculate before constructing complex sentences. Sira's teacher dropped him from further special ed services since he's learning with the pace of class, speech will be his focus outside normal class routine.

Bereket. His self portrait was nothing but brown scribble. He has trouble with the tripod grip. Then a couple of weeks ago he astounded his teachers so they took a picture of what he did at the chalk board. A perfect snowman. Three round sections, buttons on the bottom most stout section, hat on top, arms and eyes perfectly placed.

Tsega. Running with language explosion, no, flying. It's all talk all the time now. Oh, the stories.

Everybody's description of all three. Hilarious, cute, always smiling, happiest kids in the class. One problem. Still giving our sweet marshmallow bus driver the 3 stooges act. I relate Doug, I feel for you.

Jerry: Isn't it a shame, you have nothing to worry about now?

Me: Oh! It's not over yet!

Birthday Boys

2010-01-27T10:08:00.212-06:00

Pictures courteous of my mom and her triplet-unfriendly camera. Scenes: Hotel Room and Mall . . .

No, not their birthday. But with preschool comes friends and with little friends come birthday parties. So the complexities of gregariousness are growing roots in my boys' expanding worlds. Brace myself.

So far it's been just 4 parties and mostly for kids turning 5. Three year olds at parties are kind of funky. For one, a parent or two (in my case definitely two if all 3 boys go) must accompany the child. They are still too young for drop off (darn). I usually don't know the child or the parent(s) so enter my own social awkwardness. Sometimes the celebrated child is too shy to enjoy his guests. Sometimes your own children run around playing after the structure breaks up (presents opened, song sung, cake gobbled) so that we kind of lose track of the party goers. That only applies when the party is held in a large public space.

My favorite party so far was at a roller rink. I hadn't skated in about 30 years (shit, that's a really long time!) and of course this was a first time for my babies. What a blast, although we had almost zero contact with other guests. Brooklyn talks my ears off when I see her in Sira's class. OK, little one, OK, eat your lunch now . . . yes, we will come to your birthday party next year too . . .

My least favorite was at a Burger King indoor playground. I made the mistake of taking only Tsega because I couldn't reach the little girl's mama and the invite only indicated Tsega (it was his class mate). Turns out they were all welcome.

Anyway. Tsega is shy these days, not the same social king of yesterday. He's still king after warm up, but without his brothers warm up is hard to get to. He stayed on my lap, wouldn't go in the jungle gym thingy, and I didn't know anybody in this tight confinement and I felt kind of stupid. Maybe he was afraid of missing the cupcakes, because just after he had his, his mojo kicked in and he was off chasing and yelling after Emmy (Emmee! Emmeeeee! Emmilea!). For 10 minutes anyway 'cuz then party was over and there I was stuck, alone, with no way to lure Tsega out of gym. Oh wait, the goody bag! Tsega, I have a present for you! Yay, we can go now! Now he talks about Emmilea/Emmy everyday. Emmy gayle, Emmy gayle hair, Emmy no pushing, Tsega no pushing Emmy.

I go to these parties because I know that for my kids these parties, a little boring for me at times, are the best dang thing in the world. They talk about it before and after like the most fun, nothing beats it, happens at birthday parties. I also go because most kids won't and birthday parties need children. All kids from preschool class get invited to most, but we are either the only ones that come or one of very few(don't worry, enough family and friends do come!).

Check out that bored mama in the background (pink shirt, lifeless grimace) and her listless father and husband. Oops! Thad be me!

Last word. Last birthday party was for Gavin, Bereket's class mate. He wanted all 3 boys to come so came we did. I love this . . . As soon as we showed up, his hands embraced Bereket's face, he studied him a bit, and said, This one is Bereket! and led him off hand in hand. Better than most! Well, post Christmas didn't leave me in much buying mood, so I did sort of a no-no. I gave Gavin a previously owned toy. Although not used. On a whim just before Christmas, I saw these adorable race cars all groovy bamboo and boasting of sustainable this and that and so non-toxic you could eat it.

Half price! No way, these I had to get. Well, my boys weren't overly excited with so many cars already, and I got three, so I took the lime colored one and gifted it to Gavin. Feeling sheepish at the party, thinking the lack of plastic packaging will give me away, instead I enjoyed a few minutes of glory as I think he and his dad loved this gift the most. Little boy didn't study all sides of it with confused intensity and push it aside for his next gift like he did with the others. Nope, this perfect gift he met with a WHOAAA!!!! and glided it across the table with a waxed symbol of #5 riding shot gun before moving on. Dad made several statements expressing his love for the little car. OK, how fun is that, being the best gift giver? Is there no virtue in this, making a little boy and his father happy, or does this reveal my ever-need of wanting to be the coolest kid on the block?

Haiti

2010-01-20T08:34:00.046-06:00

No words, cannot imagine, cannot really feel or know the sadness, horror. Just thought I'd share where our little money went to help: S.O.I.L. I blogged about my friend's organization before and believe in their mission because I personally know Sasha, the co-founder, and know her heart and brains. SOIL is for long time change in Haiti and it's true, without answering problems about sanitation and food production (and therefore soil--Haiti has lost its soil and the means to feed itself), empowerment is not possible. But for the short term all donations go to earthquake relief. Sasha is in Port-au-Prince now and wrote THIS from the grounds (must read!).

Donate. Please. Today. If not to SOIL than another org you trust.

And if in need of comic relief and feeling just a little P-Oed at what Pat Robertson said about Haiti's earthquake, then you must read THIS, a letter from The Prince of Darkness himself to Robertson.

Peace and love.

OCD

2010-01-11T11:25:00.074-06:00

The kid was obsessed with Pinocchio. No, not was, is. Still. Still will he hunt around for the perfect "got no strings pants" or shoes, which sounds more like dot-no-teen running together all melty . . . oh the happy on his face and little bend he does when he is satisfied with his costume. Oh, and let's not bring up the tail obsession since I think it's almost passed. That one always makes him upset.

Now, a new obsession, a new character. This one more controversial. Not for the machismo faint of heart. For this he needs something that twirls around his legs. Usually, unfortunately, one of my shirts. And here it is: I'm a girl! (Or Gayle? Perhaps a girl named Gayle.) I now must hide all my shirts, undergarments, and tights. Little boys are not gentle with such frill and he is a messy eater. Don't bother telling him he's a boy when he is in such a state of mind. It might be unhealthy and he will only insist louder, No, gayle! One [points to himself], two [points to me], two gayles! I don't blame that he wants to identify with me (or his long-haired friends at school). The other day he said he was Boo while in costume (the baby girl in Monsters), so I suspect it's his love of play acting. Or the alternative. But I am not paying for the surgery! :) Anyway, sooner or later he throws off his dress and pecks around for a Pinocchio costume once again. He changes his clothes a lot.

Funny though, last Friday two people thought he was a girl and the way he was dressed and really, just looking at him, I didn't see it. Girl or boy, I love him or her to death!

*No names were used. I could be talking about anybody. I am not embarrassing my man child. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

12 Days of Christmas

2009-12-29T16:39:00.050-06:00

Ewww, I just can't shake Christmas off, it was pretty spectacular this year celebrating with three threes. Except we are all asking for cookies like all the time suddenly. Like we just expect chocolate everyday.

Anyway, I was super jealous of one Super Mom's idea for the 12 Books of Christmas: 1 new book for baby each of the 12 days leading up to Christmas. She started this tradition on her first Mommy Christmas and every year I've thought, damn, that's a good idea, why didn't I think to do this? Then seemed everybody was doing it. Trend setter!

Rant: OK, she is really starting to bug me . . . I mean fresh local vegetables and fruit always on big display (and her kids actually eat it!), organic this or the other whooped into delicious platters, home spun stocking stuffers, well adjusted children, you know, one of those mindful mamas. Sickening. (Hug, kiss, love you!)

But Jerry and I thought of a great new tradition of our very own beginning December 2010. Every day for 12 days until Christmas Day, we will break out a bottle of wine, one we've never tried before. That's 12 bottles in 12 days. Easy and special and meaningful seeing how we also celebrate our wedding anniversary on Christmas Eve. Feel free to steal my idea (I'll remind all next year) and I promise to blog about each day!

Christmas Gluttons

2009-12-28T09:04:00.127-06:00

Christmas came with plenty of price tags, boxes and bags, and snow, lights, and heart-stuffed celebration too. I have a hangover's sense of rolling, rolling, wheels, blurry rolling wheels, and sugar cranked kids rolling rolling spiralling, spinning . . . a weird fuzz of three little shopping carts, shopping carts, everywhere shopping, extremely so.

Wee early morning, asleep in their beds, everything in place. Look, Jerry, Santa left me a stocking!

Rolling off with presents and balloons in cart. Tsega held his candy so long. Nobody had the right stocking. Bereket refused to wear Ethiopian pants. Later, Tsega wore a dress.

We rolled, shopped, wiped noses, resolved toy fights, hugged, played music, cooked play doe, and ate like pigs. Gluttony rules!

And new train parts too.

Happy New Year!

Happy Anniversary!

2009-12-24T10:42:00.031-06:00

Jerry: I look like a wacko.
Me: Oh, nah, well, a little.

He's beautiful.

Eight Christmas Eves ago Jerry and I eloped to Santa Fe and married.

About 5 years later we became parents. We left Thanksgiving decorations behind and came home in a time warp, everything had morphed into Christmas and we had three new family members. It really did feel like time skipped while we were gone. Blammo, we're a family.

Smile Tsega!

Who's Naughty

2009-12-24T10:00:00.002-06:00

I love using Santa as a threat . . . oh, so naughty, Santa won't come tonight!

Santa, because I know you are reading (he sees everything!), please note the following bad behaviors last weekend as you check your list.

At the Mall. Funny, but embarrassing and quite defiant and overall pretty difficult. I knew it would be a bad exit, I knew. I had to drag Tsega from under a clothing rack, and I mean draaag, kicking and screaming under my grip in what escalated into a very public and royal fit. (Really folks, this is not an abduction!) Meanwhile, daddy was trying to put jackets on what appeared to be 2 clowns in full production of The Greatest Show on Earth: rolling, falling, bouncing, roaring, hysterical twin clowns. I liked the audience gathering for a laugh; the Salvation Army bell ringer, a clerk, in particular the lady describing the scene over a cell phone as I walked past, momentarily pretending I was not part of this circus act.

Please also note these good natured people on your list . . . I'll take a chuckle over the horrified holier-mom-than-thou (aka, control-your-child-you-hopeless-loser) glare anyday!

Then there was the grocery store the very next day . . . it's enough.

As for Jerry and I, we made it to the parking lot still smiling with a good tone and medium volume in our voice, so either we are crazy, dulled with fatigue, or incredibly patient (in public, ha!). Bless us.

OK, they are so freakin cute and excited lately, let's give them a break. They're only three. A whole lot of three! And way more nice than naughty. Well . . . not including this morning.

Merry Christmas!

Pictures from last fall. Man in orange shirt is not Jerry, FYI.

Hippie chick in background amused.

Grateful

2009-12-21T09:17:00.114-06:00

Ah yes, I am grateful too, since this is the time of year to fill it to the fullest. Never think that I don't count every day with my family as damn lucky, even when I complain and get all mean and naggy. Ewww, I do the scary daughter, sister, mom, and wife thing too well!

This is my boys' third Christmas and we have been together for every one of them. Sweeeet. We also just celebrated the third year anniversary of our family (Thanksgiving Day). Well, I use the term 'celebrate' loosely. Right now it's more limited to, well boys, it was three years ago today that we first met you . . . lame. Got to find more meaningful traditions . . .

Some things, conversations with 4 year olds or their parents at my boys' preschool have rubbed it in lately (see below). My boys attend Head Start where they mingle with a good diversity of people. Some kids are disabled, poor, or a little broken, although from what I see, most--all--are adorable lovely little people with a great appetite for love and learning. I like the super quiet ones when you think they are scared little mouses or unable to talk; I'll look at them and say a few things and suddenly out comes this little voice telling you about their lives: my mom's a nurse or my twin sister sleeps with me. Whoa, such little people with great big voices. (Two of my three have the littlest voices of all . . . a little girl the other day asked her mom why they wouldn't talk to her . . . I told her they don't talk much, but they are really nice!) Then there are the ones, always super excited, barely touching their feet to the ground (my boys!).

Conversations at Preschool:

Boy: Does Tsega have a mom?
Me: I'm Tsega's mom!
Boy: You're Tsega's mom???!!!!!
Me: Yes! Do you have a mom?
Boy: (Sad, head down.) She lives really far away. But I have a dad.
---

Me: Are you a parent or do you work here?
Woman: (Confused look) Well, I am her biological mom. [I am wondering huh, weird, why the emphasis on 'biological'?] But she's in foster care. I was so happy I was able to come today.

Note: Both foster parents came that day too and little girl called both women 'mommy' and both women adored her as did 'daddy'.
---

Girl: Mommy! Tsega has a daddy too!!!

Note: Single parent households dominate our preschool community so dads are sort of worshipped here. Not that I don't know some super single moms out there! ;)
---

I love most of all those cozy moments when you feel it overwhelmingly. Last night was like that. So, yeah, gratful.

Organized

2009-12-15T09:18:00.036-06:00

I believe big in toy organization. Toy boxes should hold no more than one layer of toys. Use cabinets and shelves and boxes; each box holds only 1 toy type (like blocks in one box or train sets in another). This way us parents can avoid over stimulating or boring the child and we keep toys alive through rotation. So after a good morning of organizing the kids' closet (a kids closet we built in lieu of more hall closet space when we learned we were going to be parenting triplets), either I forgot to lock the closet door (oh yeah, locks everywhere!) or Sira scooted a chair up to unlock the door himself. My doing took about 5 minutes of undoing mixed with a bit of lack of supervision. Notice the children are not in the pictures. A quick angry howl from me and the little ones scurried the heck out of there, although humor quickly took over as I ran and grabbed the camera. What are you going to do?

Dad Fun etc

2009-12-14T10:51:00.070-06:00

Don't let this post fool you, I'm the fun parent and I'm pretty sure face slapping was not happening, at least not by daddy (or papa, or whatever he's called).

BTW, this reminds me of a comment I recently received from a fellow mama who happens to also have adopted triplets from Ethiopia. Hey, everybody's doing it. She was wondering about sibling-sprung violence and general bad behavior originating out of the domino effect as it relates to multiples. You know, one kid hits or throws and gets punished while the other smiles and mimics the exact same deed despite the full awareness that punishment will follow. I can't really answer the bottom line questions on how to stop it or whether it ever stops, but I can assure her it's natural, biologically-derived triplet behavior. (Remember this old post? Watch the video, although don't judge, I was already chewed out by one humourless reader--God bless the humourless--and this was long ago . . . things are better these days but still not totally at peace). How do I know? Go on You Tube and start searching triplet videos. Channels are full of triplet brawls. And check out the preview for this upcoming movie: Babies. While those African dolls are not twins, I can sure relate! :) (And I love their homemade toys!) Peace out.

Dear Santa,

2009-12-09T13:30:00.015-06:00

I have a modest, meager Christmas Wish, the perfect gift:

One dinner, just one, without anybody crying or screaming or spilling milk. Please, Santa? Oh, and maybe, since I have been very good this year, a few bites of green food from the mouths of my children?

I promise to be good next year too. Thank you.

The Bells of Christmas

2009-12-07T10:22:00.046-06:00

From hell.

What was I thinking?! I hand over a set of (hard metal) bells to three year old triplet boys? (They love them!) Grandma "nanacake" held her ears shut and looked like she was going to be sick. And now Jerry's banned them (the colorful dents on the back door, not good). Warning, these bells require strict supervision, healthy ears, and the outdoors. Not to be used for banging on things or as weapons. And the craziness does not stop there. For Christmas the boys are getting a Remo gathering drum (extra sticks of course!),

play piano, and a guitar. I picked up the bells from Hobby Lobby on a whim. Let's get loud!

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Ready for school!

2009-12-03T09:40:00.133-06:00

Sort of . . .

Teachers, give their hair a fluff with the hand after hat removal to restore style, please!

Pre preschool era the boys were delighting us with after sun up wake ups. Note the word after, as in, the sun shines and maybe it's somewhere between 7:15 and 8:00. Now with regular 6:30 wake ups to get everybody ready for the bus by 7:26--like dragging cold bodies from beds across floors and onto potty chairs-- biological alarm clocks are going off at odd hours. Four o'clock, 5:00, 6:00 (I can live with 6:00), little pitter-patter so early makes our eyes go wild and red! This morning it was 4:30 and Bereket who could not keep his hands and feet off me. Then Sira at 5:30, so what the hell, get up Tsega and I'll give all you stinky butts a bath.

Oh, and the illnesses! The ever and never-ending sniffling and wheezing (and whatever else, last week it was pink eye). I (and everyone else) have been well for about a total of two blissful weeks since August (actually, more like June).

So that's all the bad news (as I wipe my wild runny eye and hack a lung). Oh wait, one more . . . Sira occasionally cries (screams?) before getting on the bus (no coo-buth, no coo-buth, stay ome) and Tsega likes to say, No scoo modow, I sick. And they are giving the sweet old bus driver major belly aches with their escape artistry. One co-worker of ours reported seeing the bus about a mile from home, stopped and pulled to the side of the road, with 3 boys crawling all over the dash. That's my boys!

Here's some good news. Despite grumbles about school, they all adore it. Report from school: all three always happy, always smiling; excited, engaged and thriving; couldn't be happier with progress in language (see above child quotes, this is a long way we've come!); darlings of the school. Indeed my visits confirm this. Big fat smiles, totally excited, totally smitten with teachers and activities. All numbers and letters and colors at home. And get this, they never hit bite pinch or scratch, they obey the rules to the letter, and mind the routine like good little conformists. Remember, they are separated into three different class rooms. They are only disruptive little puppy dogs when they are together on the bus and the walk to and from the bus (who can drag the bus walker's arm the farthest or get away the quickest . . . guess Bereket won yesterday as he ran off and hit a clear glass door smack on the face. Oi!). Now, how to capture their obedience (I've seen it for myself, the teachers have a golden touch!) and non-violence at home. . .

Sira and Bereket are pretty much the shortest boys in class (but taller than a few girls!) but they are also nearly the youngest, and still have that baby way, but get along, like I say, as best as can be in a class with kids as old as five. Tsega looks 16.

Sira: I accompanied him on a field trip to the fire station. His little quiet self hardly paid me any attention (and the smile never faded) and he was always the first, dead center, in the crowd of kids to go and try anything. He has friends, some who grab onto him always to play; brown, white, girl, boy, older, younger, talking & not-talking.

Bereket: Two older Latino girls adore him and he eats it up. They giggle over him and love him to death. At his field trip to a pizza factory we were the fun table. Those girls are a riot and they think he is the funniest thing ever. He's singing all the time now. Loves letters and is learning them quite fast.

Tsega: A door has opened in terms of language. He says stuff that makes you think he must have known these words and how to say all along, just didn't. He is over the top excited in class and a big helper. He helps the tantruming ones get up and get over it. His language is tripping my mind out! But now a little sass is growing as well; Let go of me!, his favorite thing to say right now. Nice thing for others to overhear at a grocery store when I'm trying to tell him not to run off from the cart. I swear I'm not stealing him!

I love hearing the little songs they sing, ones I don't know from school (something about a monkey whale and wicky water, although this can't be right!), and hearing names of kids they like. I asked Sira, is there anybody you don't like? No. And the library books they check out, so revealing. Sira loves books about families and farms. They often bring books home about animals or feature people of color. Sira's current book is in Spanish.

And for an ending . . . Suddenly Sira and Tsega are loving their brown handmade dolls I bought so long ago and the boys so ignored (other than to remove their clothing). Tsega's (girl) doll is Mimi although the other day he called her, very clearly, Maya. Sira calls his (boy) doll Leah (lee-uh). Not sure where that came from, but he calls it so sweetly with a sort of secret grin.

Monster

2009-11-23T09:14:00.071-06:00

Monster is our favorite family game and anybody can be it. This game ignites imaginations, expends energy, and wears us out. So funny to hear those breaths inhale sharply as heads slowly turn, gasping, Monster . . . come! I was watching a stupid, heavily edited horror flick on regular TV the other day during nap (yet another reason to nominate me Mother of the Year) and the boys joined me as they got up (reason #2). Yeah, sure, I thought, I really should turn this off, this can't be right. But somehow I couldn't rise from the couch. During every commercial, gleeful protests of More Monster, please! were heard. Anyway, this is the great part of having three three-year old boys. There's always enough to play a whopping game of monster. Clearly in these pictures (night pics in my house are hard, so excuse blurredness), Tsega is Igor with a hunchback and Sira and Bereket are some kind of wicked shirt monsters.

Weird and Ghastly!

Slimy and Oozing!

Fantastically Freaky!

Wild and Abhorrent!

Through the Zoo

2009-11-17T11:33:00.181-06:00

Watching

Crying

Styling

Resting

Crawling and growling

Wrestling

Strolling, sort of

Stalking

Getting left behind (click to see spot in the horizon . . . Sira does this a lot)

Running in circles

Look Ma, No Strings

2009-11-06T09:12:00.098-06:00

I've got no strings
To hold me down
To make me fret, or make me frown
I had strings
But now I'm free
There are no strings on me
Hi-ho the me-ri-o
That's the only way to go
I want the world to know
Nothing ever worries me
Hi-ho the me-ri-o
I'm as happy as can be
I want the world to know
Nothing ever worries me
-Pinocchio

Everyday, many times a day, for at least the last year I think, although frequency has grown, Tsega starts scurrying around the house in search of socks and shoes (the socks are as necessary as the shoes). If he wants shoes, I know what's coming. He needs to dance! If he's wearing pants, I assist in rolling the legs up as high as they'll go, or we get him into a pair of short shorts. Now, costume complete, he's ready for his Big Number: I got no Strings, from Pinocchio. Lately we've been dancing with video because I was curious how closely he follows the choreography. And he's sticking as closely as he can with Pinocchio's movements, falling down at all the right times and everything. It's not like he ever asks to watch this rather dark but musically-rich movie (Geppetto could really use some lessons in attachment parenting, BTW), he just wants to sing and dance so we watch the musical numbers feature. A whole lot.

Oh, here come the eye rolls. Here's the my-kid-is-so-cute-and-talented post. A post only a mother could love. Gag. But he is talented, my darlings; dancer, singer, actor. No lie. So last night I finally captured a savory piece on video and of course, had to give my baby an audience. An appreciative one, we hope :). It's long, shaky (especially when Sira jumped on my back), with noisy background, and times when Pinocchio is idle, but there are seconds of adorable and amazing turns. So focused he keeps going when Bereket throws toys on the floor. The show must go on!

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

More, you want more, more peese? An encore performance this morning! This time I tried to capture the TV and T in one shot so you can see matching dancers, even both scratching their one leg with the other at same time. Ahhh, the cuteness of toddlers and their annoying blogging mothers. Bravo.

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Angel B

2009-11-04T15:35:00.151-06:00

Time for the identical pair to switch it up again. Trading toys morphed into trading personalities, it seems. Sira is trading a little piece of his angel in for a hunk of Bereket's naughty.

Bereket . . . well, maybe I haven't mentioned this before, but everybody kept telling me about the onery spirit twinkling in his eyes; and they weren't wrong. In fact, I had to keep reminding a few not to speak of him in this way within ear shot. You know what they say, kids hear all bad criticism and soak up less of the good. He wasn't all that really, but this crazy laugh, toothy grin, and way he had of saying, Bu-by-eeee (say it with music and extreme exaggeration, as if mocking your school teacher) just after he pushed Sira to the ground for the nth time, well, it was becoming disconcerting. I don't expect a whole lot of empathy from a three year old boy, but still. Not to mention it seemed he looked to Sira really too much for pattering and direction, instead of like, maybe . . . me? or Jerry? Meanwhile, Sira was angelic and sweet and ever-pestered by his adoring Bear-duh-ke-tuh, as we lovingly call him (said with exaggerated tongue roll).

I'm not sure what happened, but Sira's eyes are starting to look at me sideways more often, he's full of no, and I swear he's swaggering. Get this, at bedtime he puckers up for a kiss and as soon as he gets it, he tells me, Go! At the same time Bereket's hugs and kisses went on overdrive (so I can't go yet, Sira, I have about 20 more kisses to dole out, or 40 with Tsega here too); his eyes softened, I found him curled in my lap more, less defiance, more helping. I'm liking this bigger and sweeter Bereket.

It's not like I didn't see the angel inside him before, I mean he even walked like one:

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Sira is once again more drawn to daddy these days. I can tell with preschool and all, change is big on his (well, all of their) horizon. His inner world is saturated and I love seeing all the different dimensions taking shape as all my boys grow up.

Sidenote for an ending: Tsega, apparently, hates firemen (sorry for the sexist term). Do not mention them or he will go all irate and keep on insisting, No firemen!

Spoookey

2009-11-03T10:27:00.082-06:00

Every Halloween I hunger fear. Faux fear, that is. I delight in haunted horror and eerie dread and need to get scared. One can't get too scary with three year olds and by the time they go to bed, I'm too tired for horror. But this Halloween left me giddy with fright. I'm one of those that prod my little ones into festivities, like pointing out all the creepy spiders and ghouly death faces haunting our downtown neighborhood while making shivery ooooooh, ewwwwww, and woooooo noises. Nice, mom.

Let me back up. So it's Halloween night and the boys' first-ever tricks and treats outing. They napped late and by the time they were up and in costume, darkness began, thus the sucky pictures. Giddy, we were all just giddy with excitement. And shit, but the cuteness, whoa!, I could not get over it. Cow, mouse, and clown.

We planned on driving out to some neighborhood since country living does not afford things like this, much to my liking. And totally by accident, we stumbled through Halloween Central; the Historic District downtown went ALL OUT. Kids - everywhere. Noises, lights, decorations - overwhelmingly, horrificly amazing. Frightening and fun fun fun.

OK, they're three, scary isn't really a good idea yet, I know. Tsega started out and stayed cautious, always trailing behind with Grandma. Bereket had the misfortune of being with me, the one making all the scary noises, so after about 20 minutes fear began settling in. Well, it was also the oversized death masks that did it (much scarier than a normal-sized death face, if you ask me). But he still timidly waddled up to doors and held his bag open for candy. Let me interrupt to say they made me proud because they were all so good about leaving the candy in the bag and not foraging through it until we were done. Sira had ever-positive daddy to help so he by far was the happiest tricker-treater. Big smile, bag wide open, he was having a blast. Damn, they were sooooo cute! Back in the car, all smiles and laughter, fear gone, chocolate running down chins onto costumes. Now a great Halloween memory.

Masquerade

2009-10-14T17:03:00.005-05:00

Listen to them.
Children of the night.
What music they make.
-Count Dracula

Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade. Masquerade.
Hide your face, so the world will never find you.
Masquerade!
Every face a different shade. Masquerade.
Look around, there's another mask behind you.
-Sung in Phantom of the Opera

Bereket as the Mouse

First of all, big hugs dear readers for any kind thoughts you offered the gods. Mom's surgery was an A+ and dad says she was a magpie at 1:00 am last night (that is, the night before I started this post, not last night in real time) yapping away good stuff. Ohhh, those are nice drugs. Drugs good. Keep pressing that button, mom. She's recovering slowly still in Hospital, wrapped like a turtle (fitting for her current walking speed) for many weeks to come, but will come out good enough.

On to Halloween. Firsts are exciting to grandmas and their babies so we are giddy about Halloween this year because we're doing Halloween with the boys, at last, in whatever form; we're finally ready for it. Mom sent me a box of fuzzy animal masks. Adorable out of the box and strange on little faces. I went to Good Will and stocked up on costumes, some for tricks and treats, other for fun. It warms a heart to look down on your little one playing "choo choo cars" in a cow costume as if all is normal.

Sira as the Leopard

So proud of their tails. One would offer it to the other in hopes of being leashed around.

Confession. I hung out at old cemeteries as a teenager. My hometown in SouthCal has the best graveyard of anywhere. Naturally we weren't always, uh-hum, nice girls, but we never-ever would disrespect a grave or leave trash and we felt reading engraved names of the dead aloud was a good thing for the heavens. In fact, my friend named her cat after one of those antique names. It makes sense now. In the middle of urban it was a solitary wild place with ornamented stone, old trees, and wild animals.

My favorite Halloween heroes are Dracula & Frankenstein. I'll watch the old black and whites this season like I always do. (The Invisible Man is worth watching too.) A disfigured monster who wants to be loved, how bitter-sweet. Seriously, I have written (bad) poems about Frankenstein's Monster. "Friend . . ."

I just got back from NYC and we saw Phantom of the Opera (my first time). No surprise, I was bawling at the end. I think I could love him . . .

I was putting off posting until I could capture Tsega in his Halloween costume (The Clown), but I cannot hold any longer. More of him and All Hallows' Eve in later posts . . . Until then, have a ghoul time. Did this cheer you up mom? :)

She Broke

2009-10-08T15:25:00.017-05:00

My mom . . . her back . . . hit and run car accident. They hit at speeds at least 2x the limit and ran. Mom lies in hospital with broken back parts waiting for surgery tonight. She walks, she lives, she laughs, she's blessed. (If you can call any part of the event a blessing . . . I think not!) Mom would never want to go on with paralyses and I could not go on without mom.

Love you mom. Love you. When you open your eyes again look at these babies. Remember how they've grown. Oh, those babies. It breaks our hearts to be so far . . .

All About Me

2009-09-24T12:58:00.085-05:00

So, what about Mama? (Yeah, so what about mama. It's about the kids now, honey.) Last heard, she was in a community theater production of 42nd Street.

Bottom left hand corner is me. Weird.

Oh yeah, that. It was fabulous and exhausting and my marriage suffered greatly throughout. We are all nicer now that time and rest has healed our wounds. So I kind of neglected the house and kind of let Jerry take the burden of just about everything and he kind of hated me for it. Oh well, guess I'm just that kind of person. Love me. I am back to dance class (and singing lessons too and oh, acting class as well!) and still lovin it and gosh it's nice to have left behind a few pounds this summer. And gosh, I could not have picked a better time to break my foot just as the show ended and before classes begun.

Yeah, I broke my foot about 2 months ago and it still hurts and I still limp. Do NOT mix wine with TV's So You Think You Can Dance while one babe is swinging in your arms as another lays in your dancing path. Pretty soon you are overly confident twirling away and you drop your baby smack on the floor as you trip all over another one and there you are lying on the ground laughing at your fool-self, screaming in pain, and comforting scared babies (they were fine!). Damn that hurt.

Not long after that I developed a beautiful double ear infection. Too much hotel swimming pool and catching jumping babies left my ears full of pain-inflicting bacteria. It still feels like a tiny balloon is inside my left ear. Sweet.

Poppie with his grandsons.

What an amazing summer it was indeed.

But wait, more good news. Jerry and I are going to NYC next week and here's the cream: sweet, adorable, gracious MIL is staying with the kids here. That means J and I all alone for 4 nights!!! I am just way too lucky. :)

Oh, yeah, and as for Jerry . . . well, the BIG journal Nature named him as "one of five crop researchers who could change the world". He's our token Messiah here at work. Whatever.

. . . Tsega too

2009-09-21T13:21:00.034-05:00

And while Bereket is partnering with Sira, Tsega is there to follow, or lead, provide backdrop, or whatever. Hey, didn't want to leave him too far behind. As if . . .

He can either be found banging sticks, taking the fridge apart, petting his dog Louie (we bequeathed our hound to Tsega's care), or in my arms squeezing me breathless. I say all this and here he is quietly reading books, not bothering a soul.

I like the strange blue light from the toy. Eerie cool.

Sit n Spin

2009-09-21T12:41:00.065-05:00

They don't make 'em like they used to. But this is more about capturing those beautiful rays casting just the right glow. I love sun when it filters in like smoke and lights like fire . . .

If you haven't paid attention, there is hardly one thing Sira can do without Bereket partnering up. Get used to it, Sira-cakes.

Forgive our early morning bed heads . . .

Summer is leaving me

2009-09-21T12:21:00.028-05:00

As we harvested this big squash-thingy and marveled at its ridiculously overstuffed stature, we also mourned the remaining days of summer. Oh, say it ain't so . . . Cold dark days ahead stuck inside with three three-somethings. Somehow I feel depressed.

Here we go with another cycle, head first. Brace yourself . . .

Sharing is fun

2009-09-16T13:46:00.078-05:00

Boy A has toy. Boy B wants toy. Boy A doesn't want to share and neither does Boy B for that matter. Hmmmm, strange alien-like toddler behavior. Boy B is clever and asks peeeeese. No go. Boy B is persistent and eventually finds the magic word. ENguh. This uttering used to mean all done. Then it branched out into new meanings. Here ya go or give me that. Now it also means let's trade. It can go on for long time like this, enguh, no enguh, back and forth, trading toys or food, all three boys. I find myself saying, No Enguh! We can enguh after you eat. Somehow trading lessens the blow of sharing.

Hey, they're triplets. They're a little odd-duckly.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Forgive Bereket's sluggishness. We just awoke him with his new tractors from Grandma C.

Happy . . .

2009-09-14T13:32:00.044-05:00

one minute

sad the next.

And the next (maybe it was the outfits).

And that's the way we roll . . .

Seriously, who dresses you kid?

PJ Day

2009-09-10T13:14:00.028-05:00

Kids, backpacks, shoes, toy cars, hair, and unread notes falling out of backpacks piling up on me this morning, and I realize, it's pajama day today for one the boys. Which one? From which backpack did this fall? No date, no teacher name, only the para's names (who remembers them?).

Bereket naked with junk

So after some clever sleuthing, we figure out it's Bereket. Bereket's class is doing PJ day. Undress, looking for a pair of PJs, do we have any bona fide sleeping clothes left? Off we send our son to school in his jammies. Hmmm, this is strange, is this right?

Anyway, now I am worried. Was the note for today?

Bre, come . . .

2009-09-09T11:21:00.078-05:00

They all had, well, tummy problems. A bug we had not seen before. Preschool initiation. Gosh, guess they are potty trained; I mean, this many trips to the bathroom, no diaper, it dawns on me. Anyway, forget it. Let's go to Kansas City and spend the weekend over stimulating Uncle Bri (my bro)--all the way from California--and see the insides of public restrooms, a lot. This last year has been sometimes awful in public places where remaining reasonably quiet and still is required so restaurants have taken a vacation. Oh well, let's go!

And it was a blast. Thanks unc. Thank G for al fresco dining, good for triplets. The boyz wonder where you have gone, "Bre, come . . .come . . . " Out of ten, the triplets get an 8.5 for behavior and overall graciousness (I give Bri a 7.5) and really, any higher score and they probably need reviving. This is something good seeing that we've done 2.0s before. Make that negative 2.0. And when it was worse, like pouring a cosmo in my lap, as Tsega would say, "Maaake-up!" (Click for cartoon where T picked up this adorable shtick.)

This is what happens when three terrible toddlers unrestrained with energy and mobility finally (sort of, anyway) recognize boundaries. They become tolerable and presentable in public. Fun age. Still cute, not as crazy, but still crazy. Maybe big brother will share some KC shots as my hands were too full to steady a camera. So I share these instead, from few evenings ago. Boys tearing it up where the tree swing used to hang as sun fades. Summer's over baby.

School Day

2009-08-27T14:22:00.016-05:00

6:30 a.m.
Wakie, wakie guys. Unravel your heap, time to get ready for school. Look Jerry, aren't they cute, where's my camera . . .

7:26 a.m.

Yay, school bus!

You ever get ready for work without a loud toddler or three holding your ankles? Bliss.

What happens at school, do you have friends, do you get sad, happy, laugh, in trouble, can you follow directions, do your teachers like you, what do you dislike, love, do you wonder about your brothers? Me? Such a mystery.

12:00 p.m.

Here come the squeals pulling down our driveway. There they are standing at the bus door before the bus stops rolling (better, inescapable, restraints are coming). There is the bus driver cutting up, shaking his head, slapping high fives. Here he is allowing the boys to open, close, open, close the door, calling to our dogs who make an entrance onto the bus every morning, every noon. There I am yelling at the dogs, scolding the boys, hands off the door, get in the gate, come on, come on, laughing.

12:10 p.m.
Woop it up. Filthy, forbidden, busy, screaming fun.

1:00-2:00 p.m. Sleep, go to sleep, part of going to school is sleeping, we get up so early, please sleep.

Tsega-Mega

2009-08-24T15:33:00.003-05:00

Are they twins?
Well, actually they're triplets.
Triplets!? But this one is bigger.
Yeah, well, actually it's more like these two are smaller (by about 3 inches).
He has a more mature look on his face too.
Yeah. These two are still baby faced.
Triplets, boy, oh boy!
Oh, boy!

Tsega is his Ethiopian mother's image. They share almond eyes and I think when he grows up he will have her massive hands and feet. People often think more of Tsega, like more advanced relative to the "twins" or something, because he has this charm with people, a sort of maturity or wisdom on his face. And he's bigger. One lady used to tell me, I'm just drawn to him. In reality, he tests no higher than them in any subject so far and I notice no real differences in emotional and cognitive skills, just physical. He’s strong and intense. Like he's constantly cupping my face in both his hands and squeezes my cheeks together too hard. He does this to the dogs too. I watched him jump 10 steps down a loft--from the top of the highest step all the way to the floor--at preschool open house. The teachers gasped a little and admitted that they had never seen a kid do that before. Tsega went a little limp with embarrassment, or maybe he surprised himself, then grinned that coy way he has with his eyes still shut. Nice effect. The funny part of that story, about 5 minutes before he jumped, the staff asked about Tsega's talents and I said, "He's very good with his body."

He's powerful, still bangs sticks, tough boy, but he's a sensitive soul and he and I spend much time embracing. Sira and Bereket may look like baby brothers, but inside they are strong and excited about life like bigger brother. And Tsega is just as baby inside.

New Look of Love

2009-08-24T14:24:00.001-05:00

Don't be alarmed, I mean it's not like Jerry shaved his beard or anything. I decided to go Jane, like Plain Jane, for a new blog look in Tripletland. Groovy.

Triplet-Speak

2009-08-20T10:16:00.016-05:00

Made-up words, sounds, symbolic noise that one triplet originates and the rest agree upon to mean something. This is how the boys sometimes communicate outside Webster's.

Examples of Triplet-Speak:
Ah-new: orange, both color and fruit. (Sidenote: Tsega recognizes the color pink but instead of saying pink, he points and hums the Pink Panther tune.)

Bee-bee with an arm swirling around: let’s go somewhere in the van.

Ba-Ba: brother, Bereket, or Sira (Tsega cannot distinguish between his 2 identical brothers thus both are Baba).

Ma caw (i.e., my car): mine (doesn’t have to be a car).

N-guh: (1) all done; (2) give me that (ie, you’re all done); (3) hear ya go.

Annie: owie (as if every owie is a cat scratch but not necessarily from Annie, one of our many cats). Disclaimer: I don't believe Annie has ever harmed a hair.

Gn (difficult to put letters to--guttural and comes from the nasal passages): shoes, please find my shoes.

Abby-Abby: bunny, or Bugs Bunny.

Loo-loo-lala or just Loo-la: yet to be determined; a private joke of Sira's that always makes him laugh. When in doubt, Loo-la.

Oh, and Tsega tells tall ones. Apparently every day that I am not stay-at-home, either daddy or nanny take him to the zoo to watch the monkeys (they don't). And the dog ate his eyeball and at least part of his foot. And he will tell you, no no no, climb that fence and go near the river and you will be spanked. Yes, all that from about 3 words and lots of arm waving.

BTW, mama is dead. It's now Mommy and just plain Mom. And always respond to Mom! when it comes from Tsega because he is surely tattling on something naughty the "twins" are working on. Like climbing clear on top of the van. No, no, no!

To Bed

2009-08-06T16:25:00.078-05:00

It was the end of spring and blog dryout was settling in as the days grew long. Posts were written, never published, then forgotten. Here is one still intact and begging to be seen. Picture this: footy jammies, bedtime, cats pouncing, boys (well, Sira and Bereket) jumping outside and running from the inevitable, gardens yet to be filled in.

I am grateful we don't experience Arctic suns or my boys would never sleep. The haze of the shallowest light shuts night sleep out so that since the time change bedtime is a late 9:30 or 10:00 (upside: 8:00 wakings). Waiting until a more natural crossing-over to take place makes for more relaxed home. Until late spring we suffered rarely from protest at bedtime, but the post-bedtime scene of late had grown wild and long. A night's example: bed jumping and bed exchanging; a gathering of three in one bed (sounds nice, ends bad); blanket stealing; the dislodging of all clothes and diapers; screaming. We even suffered from a little fear of the dark that seems to have moved on. (Note: The Bear, a movie about a bear cub, although sweet and adventurous (the boys love movies about animals, Born Free and Old Yellar among their faves), terrified Sira and instigated Tsega's insistence that a large stuffed lion be removed from the nursery--he, the lion, has since returned.)

Resignation . . .

August Update: late night parties, sleeping in, and easy enough bedtimes continue, until next time change. Too hot for footie jammies and no more fear of dark.

Breaking Ice

2009-07-28T09:58:00.169-05:00

There must be a post-adoption line many of us families eventually cross where suddenly your insides screw up, you hide, and things like blog posts and words drop off to unknown depths before you can share them. It's not adoption ethics, inequalities, loss, racism, or the complexities of transracial relationships that are suddenly stirring and disorganizing my head (I'm not that slow), it's . . . I don't know . . . I think it's the cross over from babies to boys that's doing it. Or maybe triplet mania has hit hard. Remember, I used to scoff at this line: you sure got your hands full! OK, I admit it, we do! We do! Overwhelmed, totally.

I've also phased into the kind of adoptive mother who chills when strangers start their prying. Are they adopted, what's their story, why Ethiopia . . . ? Hey, it's not their fault, I mean what did I expect? I'm just tired hearing my answers over and over; it bores me. Anyway, I am squeezing this blog post out to break my writers block. It's either that or end it all (the blog I mean, this is not a cry for help) and although I played with the latter idea, even drafted a final post, I still need this outlet, for now, or parts of me may explode.

Gawd, that felt good.

So here is what's going on. My boys are growing up and that's a big deal! I never knew three was such a symbolic number. Yes, the three turned three one month ago. Next month they start Pre-School, four mornings a week. My unchattery bunch, who remain not speechless but behind in language, will indeed attend Head Start as I blogged before. Did I ever tell you I fought tears, big heavy tears, as I sat at an oval desk feeling cagey and circled by about a dozen hot faced HS faculty? Mama doesn't take this growing up stuff very well, it seems.

Here's the biggy: for the first time ever since my boys began as zygotes, they are to be separated. Separated into three different classrooms. I knew one day the school system would strong arm me into this. But as I heard their arguments and I heard what I was telling them, it was clear. Imagine, tripletism can be bad for your brain. For example, one builds blocks, another knocks them down, and three are off wrestling. Great for the body and character, but that big old brain needs more singleton-like exercise.

Sentimentalism, that's all I suffer from. Growing up, starting school (with a school bus and everything!), separate classrooms, speech delays, it's all still a big party to them. And 3 three year olds definitely makes a party. Everyday. :)

Those Big ol' Eyes

2009-06-04T15:32:00.021-05:00

Reflecting my image (click, you'll see). Quite fitting seeing how Sira, as my mom put it, keeps me in close sight these days. He wants to ride on my back all times (mama back, mama back . . . ), but the problem is identical Bereket has to copy everything Sira does, so he sees this and starts begging too. No back!

Don't let those sad eyes fool you. I was trying to take pictures of Bereket and Sira stole the spotlight quite cunningly.

I like the little freckles in the whites of Sira's and Bereket's eyes. And who doesn't love long lashes and a good brow?

Come and meet . . .

2009-05-26T14:32:00.097-05:00

. . . my dancing feet. Care to guess which set of gams belongs to me?

Is 39 too old for chorus girl? Hell, I guess not since I'm just getting started. And when you got my legs and move them like I do, I should be playing a bigger role in our community theater production of 42nd Street (uh-hum, snap to those who decided). Actually I feel a little more like this when I'm all prettied up for the stage:

OK so maybe there is an upper age limit on what is right. I'm tired, cranky, I miss getting fat on the couch with my kids, I missed most of American Idol and I'll miss So You Think You Can Dance, my ego hurts, my feet hurt, my brain hurts (I've killed a heck of a lot more brain cells than these 20-somethings, so give me a break). But as silly as it sounds, and it is silly, I'm indulging a dream I've had since I was little: to sing and dance in a musical production. And this is a good one. It'll all be over at the close of June. All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up. After this I may just cram all my dreams down the throats of my boys. Come on boys, pick up those feet and lay 'em down.

Tsega Babe

2009-05-22T16:25:00.091-05:00

Tsega is one cool dude. Pictures don't do justice because they don't express his skateboard-kid strut. Seriously, he's got IT. And FYI, his heart is full on sweet love (lucky mate who ever lands him 50 years from now).

He likes sticks, spray bottles, bear hugs, singing, swinging, outside, nature, eating, long walks across the field, big kids, especially girls, and van rides to anywhere. His favorite sayings: Annie and no, no, no.

Annie's one of our nine cats and to Tsega, every cat is Annie. Any boo boo is caused by Annie. Indeed, he blames Annie for just about everything that hurts or goes wrong. Annie, Annie, ow, no, no, no. Poor innocent Annie.

But like his two brothers, he mans up when he goes wrong. I'm sure when they are much older and I ask, who did that? I won't be seeing little fingers pointing to their own chests. Gawd, they crack me up.

Spring/Summer Facials

2009-05-22T09:02:00.025-05:00

This look seems awfully familiar. (I so dig on Sira's head profile.)

Last summer it was ash (for that blog post,click HERE).

This summer it is Gold Bond powder (men and their Gold Bond, oh brother).

Apply liberally and copy brother, of course.

My boys, in particular Sira and Bereket, love smothering dirt (excuse me, I mean soil) and pebbles in their hair, not to mention powders on their faces. To which we respond with a good upside down shaking (they love) or if really bad, a head dunking under running water (they hate). Really though, if you just send them to bed with a head full of rubble, it magically dissapears overnight. But feces in the hair, oh yes, I said feces, that takes a little more scrub. I could not figure out why child X kept coming in the house repeating poo (or boo?) and pointing up with a bit of worry in his eyes. Now I know, but I still don't know who pooped and who smeared.

Just Spring

2009-04-30T12:44:00.072-05:00

When I see the first turkey vultures in March, this means the bald eagles have moved on and winter is in its final stage. The seasons in Kansas enter like a hard theatrical curtain crashing down. And before I feel it coming on, the vegetation has already begun its response. Spring: the air is wet, the grass doesn't hurt my bare feet anymore, the wind drives me crazy and thunderheads promise excitement. Spring baby, at last. Bring on the bugs, colors, fat landscape and long days outside. Yes, even the bugs because a night sky full of lightening bugs is worth all the chigger, tick, and mosquito bites I will suffer from (and my blood is the sweetest around). Nature, warm and accessible makes three happier boys.

Mmm, Art

2009-04-28T14:21:00.019-05:00

5 minutes preparation
5 minutes creative expression
4 minutes eating art supplies and face painting (I am sure this is for my benefit)
2 minutes tearing & crumpling finished products
10 minutes clean up

Result: At least one artist in the group. Sweet, Bereket.

A Good Look

2009-04-28T14:12:00.011-05:00

Hmmm, who am I embarrassing more in this picture? My scanties and the pantless bra wonder. You gotta love it when your little boy erupts from the house sporting not just one, but a drawer full of lacy lovelies.

Sad Farewell: End of Binky

2009-04-09T10:00:00.083-05:00

Oh, but I was so happy to kick out these clunker highchairs.

Binkies, pacifiers, suckies, nukes. Those powerful and magical baby soothers. Symbol of peace, love and baby. The time arrived and we sadly laid the last binkies to rest. After Tsega chewed up his 100th binky--approaching a rate of one per day--Jerry had to say it, let's get rid of the damn things, and my heart thumped a hard beat.

God, the day we had pictures of our boys and I strolled the baby aisle with motherhood at last in my soul . . . and bought purple, pink, and blue binkies. Staring at those binkies, this was real. Jerry's the one who, while in Ethiopia, kept sticking those suckers in. Tsega was hooked first and hooked hard and by the time we reached home, all three were sucking.

In my motherly wisdom, I can tell you babies and toddlers are adaptable and resilient. I pay no attention to advice that warns against forming bad habits during the baby years. No rocking baby to sleep, no co-sleeping, no pacifiers, no this or that because they are addictive battle-waging creatures that can't give anything up. Bah. Not true, except for maybe the thumb and breast. And food. If you have an allergy-free and strong bellied baby, get adventuresome early with food (wish we had). I have been dreading the end of binky but it took about one day for all three boys--all of whom loved binky--to stop whimpering over their loss. They are old enough to cope without it. The worst part is now I have no reason any longer to shop the baby aisle. Except, oh yeah, diapers, still clinging to those (don't ask how PT is going!).

In honor of Binky, I made a little video. (Oh God, another video? Who has time to watch these?) Disclaimer: I made this and added the song before it was sung by Adam on American Idol last week. Really. I already knew this sad song was something special because, well, I am just that cool. What a mad world indeed . . .

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

A day in the park

2009-03-31T18:01:00.036-05:00

I love this one little dumpy park tucked away from view, edged by walking paths, hardly ever a child playing, just a few cars come to spend their lunch hours protected by the solitude of trees and the occasional Frisbee golfers. Too poor for wood chips, too spare for regular clean ups. Easiest park to get my boys in and out of with the van a few steps away and little fear from traffic. Our lonely park where I never feel like a freak among other moms because none come to invade our intimate setting. Gone are the tight-lipped moms who look miserable, strong moms who know how to discipline properly, active moms who weigh 30 pounds less than me, moms who weigh much much more, smoking moms who bark on their cell phones, all kinds of moms and some sad weekend dads too. And I never have to guilt over displays of tantrums or sand throwing in our solitude.

I am on a video high, so bear with me . . . the opening scene features our own park-like yard and Bereket's adorable swing style. Wouldn't you love to play?

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Crazy Young American

2009-03-31T08:28:00.023-05:00

Episodic break from triplet musings and onto Haiti. . .

Located on my side bar maybe you have noticed SOIL: Empowering Haiti through soil. (Maybe "empowering" was a poor word choice?) Did anybody donate to this cause (or even regard the link?)? No. Well, don't feel bad, but do it! Or take a trip down there and help build a composting toilet with my hilarious and brainy friend Sasha Kramer. Sasha, I need to get down there! At least read about her cause. . .

The scoop on poop (and pee): S.O.I.L builds toilets where toilets and sanitation lack and fecal-born disease prevails, in a country (Haiti) where soils are nutrient depleted.
The twist: separate pee from poo thus making it cleaner, and compost the human waste into nutrient-rich fertilizer for food production. Snappy.

And she's not just young and crazy, she is also a Stanford-educated PhD.

Sasha is who I want to be in my next life. Click HERE and check out the New York Times article and watch the video embedded. The only flaw is they left out her infamous laugh (California style).

Next blog post, triplets only.

Return to Me

2009-03-26T16:04:00.010-05:00

Hurry back, hurry back
oh, my love, hurry back,
I'm yours

I'm weakly coming back, but I am here. Nice to feel your cyber vibe again. Need a smile? Watch my latest Friend Video. Ciao for now.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Back Soon

2009-02-28T09:16:00.041-06:00

A blogging vacation is in order. Too busy to breathe right now, so stay tuned for my return around mid March. I always get annoyed with the American way of bragging about how busy we are: oh, I am just so busy, blah, blah, blah! as if the busy person is just so damn important, but hey, life happens and blogging takes a back seat.

Here is a list of my oh-so-important time consuming activities under way:

1. Dance
I dance in classes at our community theater, tap, jazz, and anything that comes along, and we have Showcase (like a recital) next weekend, and Spring Thing (theater fund raiser show) the weekend after. We're learning the We're in the Money number from 42nd Street and cramming it down in about 3 one-hour classes which is freaking me out.
2. Song
Oh God, singing? Why does singing on cue scare me so? I sing all day long but when the room hushes and ears prick up, I shrink. So I am taking voice lessons to hurdle fear and learn how to use my voice. All this in preparation for 42nd Street auditions this April.
3. ICD (Infant child development)
I take the boys once a week because of their language delays (still very delayed), and social and learning immaturities, let's say. It's a zero to three program so we are beginning testing to evaluate their abilities and decide our next course of action for life after two. If they qualify for Head Start this is good and bad. Bad because of course I want them to outsmart the tests; good because they will get free preschooling 4 mornings a week. I still say the Triplet Thing puts them on levels that the tests don't test for. They are creative, spirited, ingenious, smart puppies, they just don't feel a great need to verbalize and they walk their own paths. I am as worried as I want to be, but know that they are healthy, loving, beautiful people and that is enough for me.
4. Taste of Adventure: Ethiopia.
My dance (tap) teacher happens to be the marketing/development director at our local zoo and invited me give a talk about our travels in Ethiopia--also next weekend.
5. Work
Of course our annual report is due and of course I'll be a day late again. Got to finish up 3 tons of fashionably sciencey experiments as well, but that's business as usual. For you stay-at-home snobs, I work only 3 days a week and am My Kids' Mom (haha) full-time 4 days for the rest of the week (dad gets them one full day and nanny Hellena--a lovely Ugandan woman--enjoys them 2 days a week in our home). Sweet.
6. Home
The house is a livid disaster. I suffer from a strange anxiety which prevents me from putting laundry away and the kids keep breaking everything and seems all I can do is catch up on sleep when they sleep, and . . . and . . . oh forget it.

Positive ending: life is fun, beautiful, fulfilling, full of laughs, and my family rocks.

Peace out.

Urinetown

2009-02-19T17:07:00.033-06:00

And so my most dreaded stage begins . . . the Potty Chair. Long chats about wet, dry, penis, butt, pee pee, and poo poo. One sided chats at that when your boys don't use words much. Yes, we have entered the mysteries and horror of potty training, although I am starting with only Tsega and we are proceeding slowly. I will not post pictures of him sitting on the potty nor will I describe in detail his personal moments of triumph and failure. Let's just say we are doing the Naked Butt Method and he is 100% perfect as long as he is bare. A pull up or undies on however (yech, boy undies). . . we're working on it.

Yes, I realize the pull ups in above picture are intended for girls. (Yes Grandma Betty, I knew before you pointed it out to me--you funny, but didn't he look cute in them?) They didn't have the right size in the alleged boys fashion but come on, what 2 year old boy doesn't want to look at a cute little ballerina on his bottom? (OK, maybe when I asked Tsega if he wanted to grow up and be a ballerina I pushed it a little . . .) Bereket walked around with the pull up package for 2 days but I couldn't tell if it was Dora or the cute thang modeling he fancied.

I digress and will end it here. I am hoping Sira and Bereket will do what they do so well and learn the art of potty control by mimicking. But won't this make my public life harder? How am I supposed to get all 3 boys into the bathroom and succesfully contain them while helping each do their business? They are like wild horses! (Confession: I don't know what the hell I'm doing and fear I am too lazy to get my kids trained.)

Like a Star

2009-02-06T09:18:00.039-06:00

Just like a star across my sky,
Just like an angel off the page,
You have appeared to my life,
Feel like I'll never be the same,
Just like a song in my heart,
Just like oil on my hands,
Honour to love you
--Corinne Bailey Rae lyrics

Lately, and admittedly, most annoyingly, Tsega has taken his indoor restlessness to drumming. He lovingly attached to a turkey baster and spatula (seriously, he shouts Yay! when he finds one), or any kitchen cooking utensil as a suitable substitute and taps, or rather drums (more positive term), on anything we allow him too. At first it was a plastic tiger, then a plastic airplane. He doesn't play with these toys or many other toys, but he will drum them. He is not allowed to drum furniture, floors, cabinets, tables, or people. I have tried to transfer this bizarre behavior or need into something less bizarre or rather, something musical and creative. Bizarre you ask? Well when you see your son tapping on a tiger for much of the day it is a little worrisome (and if you are thinking autism, think not, he does not display other associated behaviors). It may be a case of mad cabin fever; nature is his preferred life element and the poor boy is suffering. Or maybe my baby boy is musically gifted. So assuming it is the latter, we encourage him to experience different beats, rhythms, sing songs to the beat, drum along with him, beat on our bongos (from Ethiopia), buckets, pots/pans, and Bilibos, instead of tigers and planes, and introduce different sticks for different sounds. And if it gets too annoying for the rest of us, we gently suggest he take his drumming to his room.

An example of his work below just after breakfast. . . He (the one in the diaper for you newbies) is singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, although it is hard to make it out over the drumming. Turn it up because the accompanying song is beautiful, but them turn it down because your ears will bleed. (Yes, in case you are wondering, it is hard to remain patient with so much noise!)

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Remember to Breathe

2009-01-30T12:57:00.002-06:00

Too quiet always means: better get in there quick, something is up. One Wednesday morning, I could not keep up with the whirlwind of boys. Here's the quick run down:
* Lipstick smeared all over the bathroom
* Umpteen times the toilet plunger was found in a hand (one nameless child kissed it, and I'm not talking the handle end! I screamed!)
* Folded laundry dragged off the table
* Clothes dragged out of drawer
* Plate over turned at breakfast, flown across room (thought we were done with this!), 3 little boys snickering
* Gallon of milk opened and upturned onto floor
* Handfuls of rice stolen from counter top
* Countless apples and bananas grabbed from the kitchen, half eaten, squished, and discarded onto the floor.
I really must learn to stop placing things within reach. New rule for Tsega: no more Tsega hands (the grabbiest, fastest hands in the Great Plains) allowed to touch the counter tops--yeah, right.
* VHS tape with film pulled out and strung across house
* Three boys on top of diaper changing table with lids of various containers opened and tasted (aloe vera anti-itch gel is not bad for you, right?)

Need I go on? I feel like a pin ball sometimes. And yes, every door has been fitted with locks (don't worry, they can lock me out but there is always a way back in with our maze of doors) but sometimes the boys are so fast, split up (on purpose?), and outwit me. Of course it's way too easy to learn that a chair can get you into and on top of anything (notice the chair in above picture--of course a willing diaper change is always appreciated); including into a bottle of clariton located about 6 feet off the ground inside a latched cabinet. The 30 little white pills I found in Tsega's mouth on another day apparently all made it safely out and down the drain. Now I know for sure, I am one of those who do the wrong thing under crisis mode, although I did remember to call the doctor and poison control. Apparently if your baby is going to swallow pills, clariton is the way to go.

If I had three Siras and Berekets, maybe only one of the above things would have taken place. That's right, one beautiful Tsega Mega is plentiful. :)

Moon

2009-01-27T15:13:00.033-06:00

Oh moons, we love you, in the sky, in books, and in every circle, there you are. Moon! Even the sun is you, according to Sira (our first verbal disagreement). You are my boys' first crush. You are the last thing we say good night too. And if they see you and call your name, hearts break and tears flow if I don't answer, Yes, moon! Yes, yes, there's the moon. It's the moon!!! Hello moon! Night night moon. Oh lunar baby, full and crescent, our love revolves around your light.

Nice Dreams

2009-01-16T08:59:00.076-06:00

They love me like I was a brother
They protect me
Listen to me
They dug me my very own garden
Gave me sunshine
Made me happy
Nice dream
Nice dream
Nice dream

(If you think that you're strong enough)
Nice dream
(If you think you belong enough)
Nice dream
(If you think that you're strong enough)
Nice dream
(If you think you belong enough)
--Radio Head lyrics

If you ask me what is the single hardest part of being a mother to triplet boys, I’ll answer this: realizing that having so much means I have so much to lose. (At least you can't accuse me of taking my boys for granted, even if I do posses a flair for heightened emotion.) Sometimes I wonder, why do we build up complexity only to make ourselves so fragile?

The most profound fear and sadness overwhelm me time to time whenever I worry about one (or all) of my boys. Scary feelings I sometimes wish I wasn’t burdened with. When one crisis passes, Jerry always reassures me. Don’t worry . . . there will be something to worry about next week. We are doing great, he tells me. And so we are.

When I was younger I sometimes day dreamed that I lived an unattached life, no family, and lived exiled from society, like Jeremiah Johnson or in some cave. All by myself, with nobody to worry, and nothing to deal with except Nature and me.

A memory. A few years ago, before the triplets, I was driving west through the Colorado Mountains during a snow storm; no chains, no anti-lock brakes, no four-wheel drive; just my little economy car with balding tires, frosted windows, and me (and very little experience with snow). I entered a long mountain tunnel leaving behind a few falling snow flakes and was stunned several miles later when I exited the hole into blizzard white. Panic. Snow filled the off ramps. No exits, no turning back. Cars over turned, flipping and spinning in front of me. The only calm came from Radio Head. I played the song 'Nice Dreams' over and over . . . and over . . . until the snow eased and juniper trees dominated the landscape, meaning I had climbed down the greatest peaks into safety.

How to end this post, I'm not sure, except to show pictures of my three little junipers. They dug me my very own garden
Gave me sunshine
Made me happy
Nice dream
Nice Dreams.
(Dramatic, aren't I?)

The Two Peas

2009-01-13T16:22:00.054-06:00

Doing that identical thing again.

Wait, come back . . .

This always gets laughs at the playground.

Bereket kept coming up to me yesterday wanting me to show him how to connect his little car to a little trailer (little like hand sized). He finally got it and seemed happy with it. Then last night I walk into the living room and he had hitched up a red plasma car behind his blue plasma car (yes, the blue one is his so hands off) as if he was trailing it. And under his blue plasma car was a little buggy car that was trailing it . And there he was riding around like this, seated in the blue plasma car. Genius!

Of course Sira wanted to copy the exact thing and started fussing over it. I asked Bereket to help him out, show him how it's done, but he only succeeded in adding to Sira's frustration. It took me about 10 minutes to get Sira to stop crying over this failure. The red plasma car simply would not stay put.

This morning everybody wanted a baby blanket wrapped tightly around as they wandered the house. The blankets kept falling off and each child grew frustrated. Finally I put Sira's blanket on the floor and told him it's better to sit on it. Of course Bereket saw this and wanted his spread out on the floor to sit on next to Sira. I put a puzzle at Bereket's feet and he immediately repositioned the puzzle so that it sat squarely between him and Sira. They pieced the puzzle together in peace.

That's all there was in 2008

2009-01-08T16:14:00.021-06:00

Grandma torture . . .

Good by old, hello new. As 2008 rolled on by it got me thinking of other milestone farewells we bade during the last 12 months. By by cribs, sippie cups (except on the go), chair tipping, size 5 diapers (hello size 6 . . . guess adult-sized diapers are next), 90% of food and utensil throwing, toddler-proof door knobs, sleeping in past 7:15 (pitter-patter is not a bad alarm clock), and Tsega said good by to size 2T and a whole lot of hair.

I've captured the greatest moments of 2008 ala video montage style. Excuse the weirdish first song. As I thought about what is life really like with 2 year old triplets, it struck my fancy. Keep on dancing, break out the booze, and have a ball.

Happy New Year!!!

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Triplets find zero uses for the Bilibo

2009-01-06T11:17:00.027-06:00

Is this a joke? Some kind of mother sucking scam? Have I been bamboozled? I wish somebody had told me all that before I took this $27 toy seriously.

But The Bilibo received such high praise from a few blog friends out there, that I had to get it for the kidsos.

"Open ended fun!"
-Anonymous blogger #1

"Every time I think [Jane Doe] has done everything she is going to do with this one, she finds something new to do with it."
-Anonymous blogger #2

And isn't it Swedish? Of course they always do things better (except food & music) than most of the globe, so there must be ingenious weaved into every plastic fiber. There simply must be because it looks like a hunk of nothing to me (but I'm not Swedish so can't trust me).

We have had it for 2 weeks now and so far the triplets have enjoyed zero open ended uses from it. Just when I think they can't think of anything to do with it, they find another way to ignore it. Well, I guess I saw Sira sitting in it once while playing with his new barn on the floor. Then last night he nosed dived into it a couple of times. And I think I remember Tsega throwing it across the room more than once. Oh, yeah, Sira filled it with cars and then dumped them over his head about 5 times in a row the other night before I told him to stop (there's only so much our soft wood floor can handle and the plasma cars will be the end of it someday). And more than once we all played helmet head with it. But a few minutes of mild interest over the course of many weeks was not what I had in mind.

Oh well, it's kind of a cute piece of expensive junk to store little toys in. And wow, I have 2 of them. Lucky me.

Twos

2008-12-23T08:00:00.041-06:00

The boys are exactly 2 and 1/2 years old today. And it was exactly 2 years and 1 month ago, on Thanksgiving Day, that we laid live eyes on our boys in the flesh and knew they were real. Up until that point I had my doubts. I looked and felt awful just before we met; my nervous face is not pretty. But they--my Jah but they were cute babies. I was so embarrassed because I had never changed a diaper in my life. Jerry had to show me how to pace and bounce baby when he cries. All that stuff was easy to learn and some sort of instinct seemed to come out of me--from nowhere. I can't believe this will be our third Christmas together.

Two years ago . . .

In the last two years the hardest of all was somewhere in the late teen months when clingy anxious took over two of the three (and left by the 20 something months). The best of all has been getting to know them; discovering more about each boy's personality everyday. He's the sweet little bug, He the mad dasher, and He the ornery particular one (formerly known as the follower, the fussy one, and the smiley one). Will my labels stick or will they surprise me? I can't wait to learn more . . .

One year ago . . .

They are good boys. They can scream and kick and act awful in a grocery store, restaurant (I have a doozey of a restaurant story for you--for now I'll say no more restaurants for long time to come), but I am left for no wants when it comes to sweet lovin. Give me that smile, those arms around me, watch these babies wiggle around in a wrestle grip together, and what more could I ask for? And except for grocery stores and restaurants, two is not really so terrible. It's not as rosy-cheeked and rolly-polly as baby, but it's way more laughs. And they just get cuter and cuter and cuter . . . and life feels harder since we hit two, but fuller and more satisfying.

Happy Holidays everybody. May your life be hard in good ways.

Two Peas Plus One Pod

2008-12-09T15:00:00.000-06:00

One question we get asked often and something I think about too . . . do we detect differences, in what ever way differences manifest, between identical Bereket and Sira versus each of them with fraternal brother Tsega? Answer: yes.

I say there are clear and remarkable differences between Bereket and Sira. I feel differences between their overall auras and the way they move about, behave, sound, and express themselves. Yet at the same time, I can't seem to communicate very large differences to outsiders effectively. And hardly anybody has become very good at telling them apart with confident gusto. I fear they will always be greeted with a shaky "Hi there." and never like what Tsega gets: "Hi Tsega!!!". Show me a picture and I can tell you in an instant who is who. I think pictures capture their individualities better than the roving eye and I know you, readers, are pretty good at it. Get them running around the house naked, however, and I need more clues.

So yes, Bereket and Sira are different, but so much alike in so many ways it's spooky. It's genetic power. They tend to mill around together, wander off in the same direction (see photos captured above), observe the same things, stop and play the same toy together, mimic one another, turn their heads in the same direction at the same time, want the same thing at the same time, wake at the same time . . . it goes on and on like this. If I poke a finger in Bereket's food, I must touch Sira's (oh wait, never-ever touch Bereket's food lest you want him to meltdown); if I put shoes on Sira, I must put shoes on Bereket. If Bereket takes off his jacket, Sira follows; if Sira flops his butt down in the bath tub, Bereket follows. Ever read Gossie and Gertie? They are like that only it's more like Gertie and Gertie. Funny though and maybe luckily, they often don't share a bad mood. They tend to switch off sad hats, so to speak. Why is Sira so cranky right now? Because it's Bereket's turn to be really happy. (Or vice versa.)

Then there is Tsega. Tsega is like nobody. He is as different from his brothers like the sun is from the moon. He follows no lead. Even positionally, he is often wandering by himself outside the Bereket and Sira circle. In appearances and personality there could not be wider differences. He is so different it's also spooky. Again, the power of DNA. But please don't go the dark route as other have gone and start guessing that he is not genetically related . . . all that I know and have verified leaves me doubtless . . . just to calm any suspicious out there . . . shhh.

But now to the meat. Despite differences, similarities, nucleic acid duplications, embryonic splittings, in utero sac sharing, and identical twin telepathy, Sira and Bereket are no tighter than each one is with Tsega. They all get along about the same. They have all hated, fought, bonded to, and loved one another equally. We are a team.

Although I must admit the identical twin thing is really cool to witness; there is indeed something quite special about it. Like I've said before, we do not have medical or scientific proof Sira and Bereket are identical. But all the anecdotal proof is outstanding. And how lucky am I that I get best of both: fraternal and identical multiples all in one set.

By the way, guess what I found out? The ear piercing on Sira's upper right ear; the little hole that is a sure thing and only belongs to Sira . . . All this time I assumed somebody pierced it for identifying purposes. Nope, he was born with it.

Jealous of 8's Jon and Kate

2008-12-09T11:28:00.051-06:00

I have been dying to watch the infamous 'Jon and Kate Plus 8' on TLC. Challenging task since we only receive 2.5 television channels--sometimes. But now it's on DVD so off to Netflix I went. I gotta say, it's a little boring. You'd think six 2 year olds (six!) and two 6 year olds would be wayyyy more--and I mean wayyyyyyyy more--noisy, violent, chaotic, wild, and messy, to say the least. So what happened? What did this woman do? How is it that her house is so clean, her kids so calm and disciplined? They stay in their cribs, keep quiet during nap time, stay put in their high chairs, refrain from throwing food and plates on the floor, and Kate is great at ignoring fights. I tried ignoring toddler fights for awhile, let them work it out on their own, but man it was getting dangerous and bloody. No good. Yeah, so Kate gets cranky and snappy, but then who wouldn't and man you should see my scary wife routine. And although she doesn't seem fun to hang out with, she is an incredible parent. Or rather, what I have witnessed deems her so.

I hate her. I am stinking jealous. Such a fine manager with such a large multiples brood is she. Yet I imagine our life witnessed on TLC to be much more entertaining. Then again, it may get a little too Andy Warhol watching mama slowly slowly lose energy (imagine the music getting slower and slower) and go catatonic on the couch. Not enough Warhol movie fans out there to sustain the show I guess . . .

Maybe I am jealous since she has surely topped me in the multiples arena. Oh, if only we had six more just like my three. Just kidding? I dunno, but here's another video for your entertainment. No music, night lighting, but still lots of laughs.

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Happy Plasma Christmas

2008-12-02T11:31:00.032-06:00

Santa came early and brought three Plasma Cars. (Thanks mom!) First one arrived in pretty red. The boys were beyond thrilled. Then it hid until number two arrived in sparkling blue. I don’t think I need to tell you why we hid one until another arrived.

Then we had two. About an hour of hissy fits later it was clear that the two needed to go into hiding until the day after Thanksgiving when I could rush out into the material hungry crowds and purchase number three (also in pretty red—the only one in the store). What a sad day when you look into tear streaked cheeks while prying little fingers apart and ripping toys from them for the sake of non-violence.

Then we had three and we were happy.

Did I really think two cars would be enough? Remember, Tsega's attention span is barely long enough for any toy. You never know with multiples and I never get three of any toy until I am sure everybody will play with it at the same time, all the time, and the item is deemed as highly needed for happiness and peace. (Shhh, the other grandma Santa is shoving three tricycles down the chimney! Baby's first trikey, how sweet.).

I just want my boys to be happy through things. That’s a joke.

About the Plasma Cars. They gain momentum by moving the steering wheel side to side and turn the wheel 180 degrees and you are in reverse. No feet required. My boys haven't figured out the physics yet, but for now they are happy to race around the house using leg power. They are the most fun toy my babes have played with so far, especially for car loving freaks like Sira and Bereket. They are simple yet ingenious; fast and smooth; great for inside on wood or tile floors. They are the perfect all season solution for getting those aggressions out. I don't care if they strip the floor finish off, they are staying. And they hold 240 pounds! You bet I tried it and my wieght stripped that section of the floor clean.

Oh what fun is this Christmas. First year the boys recognize Santa Clause, identify a Christmas tree for what it is, and find utter glee in presents. Not to mention I have somebody to watch all those silly Christmas movies and cartoons with now that they are hooked on videos (good job mama). And we got brave this year and got a Christmas tree. We realized, what's the worst that could happen, it's just a (dying) tree. Who cares if they knock it down or drag the lights off. I can't imagine saying no, stop that anymore than we already do. We did, however, decide to stop at lights and say no to ornaments, except for pretty red Christmas bows. Wise choice and a darn pretty tree.

Now for another Friend's Video (somebody calls them that--I love it): Plasma Car Demo.

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Family Songs

2008-12-02T10:30:00.000-06:00

This is one of those posts that was born to serve my failing memory and not so much to entertain my readers. Still, you gotta think: how corny.

Tsega: King of the Wild Frontier
-Lyrics by Dada

Tsega, Tsega
King of the wild frontier.
He crossed the river
He climbed the mountain
He rode the prairie
He was Tsega of the wild frontier.

Tsega, Tsega
King of the wild frontier.
He trapped the bobcat
He trapped the beaver
He trapped the coyote
And he made friends with them all.

He was Tsega of the wild frontier.
---

Why Tsega? Because he was a writhing screeching piece of work as an infant and required ultra soothing. The song worked and also worked the fussiness out of his personality. But one can replace Tsega with any child's name as we do in our house. My favorite part is "and he made friends with them all". Good job Dada.

Boom Boom Bah
-Lyrics by Bereket
Performed by All Three in Unison (this is important, you need at least a duet for effective strength, emphasis, and harmony)

Ah-boom boom BAH (heavy emphasis on the BA)
boom boom BAH
boom boom BAH
boom boom BAH
(repeat chorus three times)

Bik a Bik a Bee
-Lyrics by Tsega

Bik a Bik a Bee
Bik a Bik a Bee
Bik a Bik a Bee

Feel free to expose your family shame, err I mean family song, in the comments. :)

Ain't Got No Hair

2008-11-24T09:14:00.102-06:00

"What about God?
Why am I alive anyway?
Yeah, what about God?
Nobody can take away

I got my hair, I got my head
I got my brains, I got my ears
I got my eyes, I got my nose
I got my mouth, I got my smile
I got my tongue, I got my chin
I got my neck, I got my boobs"
--Ain't Got No performed by Nina Simone, adapted from the musical Hair.

"Let it fly in the breeze
And get caught in the trees . . .
Hair, flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
My hair"
--Hair lyrics from the musical Hair.

"I am not my hair"
--Performed by India Arie.

Oh, wait, ain't got no hair, ain't flowing through the trees neither. Because Meghan the hair dresser cut it all off. What was supposed to be a trim with shears turned into a massacre with clippers. An inch or two turned into six or eight. Not my fault people, not my fault, I was clear on what I wanted but then did nothing to stop it. Amazing how one wiggly child can get nerves shaking and short cuts taken. Tsega really needed a trim, everybody kept telling me it was so. It's uneven, all that fuzzy baby hair on top, just a trim, just a little off the sides and top, it's too long . . .

After all, the beauty shop I go to has large numbers of black clients. That is where the black people in town take their hair. The owner is black. Safe, right? Yet when you think about it, I never see any black males in town, young or old, with free hair longer than a 1/2 inch. Jerry's words are still ringing my ears: are you sure she's not just going to run the clippers through it?

I don't mind brushing it out everyday, it's only 5-10 minutes out of the day and I don't mind his fussing. OK, so 1/2 hour to much longer in the tub once or twice a month for thorough comb-outs was getting to us . . . Now it's gone, baby, gone. All those wonderful spiralling curls gone, left on the hair dresser's floor. Swept up and thrown out with garbage. Tsega's magic groove is gone, gone, gone. He's so normal looking now. Yes, still beautiful, for sure. But now he looks so grown up, so man-like. I think he's ready to date. :(

And what really got me depressed? When I announced out loud that his curls will reach out and touch the sky again by the time he is three. Three!!!??? I need a drink . . .

Before:

After:

Of course Tsega could care less and will enjoy less hair tugging in the mornings. Sira and Bereket watched with dad from outside the window and when we got back in the car, Sira pulled at his hair and cried. You (and You) next, my dear.

Gaping, Wagging Mouths and Tongues

2008-11-21T14:57:00.000-06:00

My 42nd Street tap number went splendidly well last weekend and the above title was exactly the audience's response to my spotlighted performance. Ha ha. So I goofed a few times and almost tripped on a floor crack, but I was still a Star. Just ask my husband. I would go on about how great I was, but then again, my dance teacher may actually read this post and have a few words with me about humbleness and honesty. :) No really, these feet can tap!

I have been a slacker blogger, but you knew it would take awhile for the groove to return after Ethiopia. We have new people in our lives: Elmo, Arthur, and Charlie Brown. Really, the music in Charlie Brown is great all alone, but nothing like a sad kid to make me feel seasonal. It's been cold. Sometimes. I'm done with cold climates. It doesn't mix well with little ones. We go to the zoo, we go to the parks, we go to the library, we keep going because we get cranky at home and my neurons can only fire so many times.

My new hates include counter tops and drawers (the only "toys" Tsega attaches to). I am tired of telling little hands to stop grabbing and pulling on stuff. If I were to do it again, I would elect to have no furniture except floor cushions and rugs.

The library still scares me, by the way. Why is it that I imagine every mom there is caught up in thoughts about what a freak I am? Story toddler time at the library still gives me a sick feeling and it will be awhile before I attempt that again. Did I ever tell you how I once sat in a minivan crying and hoped just a little that by doing so I would guilt trip three boys into better, more socially acceptable behavior? True story. If it wasn't for the nice lady who sternly told Tsega to sit down in the wagon so mama can chase down two other boys. . . I don't want to relive it.

You know though, this triplet thing is good for socialization and sharing. I see other 2 year olds claiming toys and chairs during public play; mine, mine, everything is mine. But my kids keep smiling big in reply as if to say, OK, yours, I get it, your turn, that's OK, me wait, me next, you nice. It's so funny watching little kids interact; I mean little kids who don't know each other. I'll see one of my boys get real close to another or climb up a ladder with a strange little girl, and the other kid will get real quiet and look at him like, what is this baby doing, get away baby. To my kids its just yet another kid. Nothing to get weird about. They never play alone so no difference. I think this is also why Tsega, Bereket, and Sira all seem to prefer older kids, like ages 4 and up. They're never not around other 2 year olds. Who needs a fourth 2 year old around?

Another example. My kids at the library's play area. They shove themselves into a corner nook where the play kitchen is situated. Kids ages 4-6 are already playing in this cramped space. Suddenly I hear squeals: ewww, there are babies in here! Mom, get these babies outa here. I wouldn't go in there if I were you, there are babies in there! It's not like their diapers stank. And there are my three innocents: wide eyes, big smiles, sunny faces. You nice, you funny, me like you.

Those eyes of Sira's and Bereket's. Really, get their faces next to other 2 year olds and their big beautiful round eyes eat up the other kids'. And Tsega's big beautiful head does the same.

BTW, I realize Tsega's First Haircut is past due. I'm currently working on mustering up the courage and we are really going to do it, we really are . . . although I'm keeping it long. I am also thinking of giving Bereket (because his hair is longer than matching Sira's) an Ethiopian style haircut: nearly shaved sides, a wide tall mohawk on top, but ending before reaching down the back of his head. What do you think? I think he would look appropriately wild.

Holiday Picks

2008-11-20T17:54:00.042-06:00

And you thought I was going to publish a list of my favorite ultra expensive, European hand-made, all wooden toys for Santa to read. HA. For the holidays, other than twinkly white lights, good food, and good booze (never buy cheap beer, only cheap wine), here is my list of Top Three Holiday Must-Haves. Wouldn't be The Season in our house without them.

1. Charlie Brown (music and DVDs from Halloween thru Christmas). If you do not own Charlie Brown's Christmas music CD, then you are missing out. Good grief. Great jazz, start playing it now, 'tis the season.

2. This American Life: Pilgrim's Progress. Click HERE to link (click on the word HERE, dad--no, the previous HERE, the one in blue), then look to your left and click on Full Episode to listen. Pilgrim's Progress is in Act I, about 5.5 minutes in (listen for the whiny female voice). I love it when she says: we're all black sheep in my family. My favorite saying about me and my family since I was a teenager (hey, consider it a good thing my beautiful family--my parents and brother rock, BTW--I love them to death). Talk about familial bonds and spiritual unity.

3. This American Life (and NPR's Morning Edition): David Sedaris's Santaland Diaries. Click HERE to listen. The actual episode is in Act II after the Toys R Us story. Who doesn't love a sad gay elf? Or an angry one at that (Hi Jerry--OK, private joke, sorry). My favorite part is Sedaris's accurate and poignant impression of Miss Billy Holiday.

Happy Holidays. Grab a vodka and cranberry, flip on Charlie Brown's Christmas, and warm those toes by the fire with your lovelies. I'll be back tomorrow to post way too many cute baby photos, so stay tuned . . .